Beauty Lies Heavy

The morning rolls over, delirious with sleep and hunger. Beauty lies heavy on the faded green mattress. Her arms, slim and glowing white, are hanging down the side of her bed. Flickers of dreams roll in and out of her mind: coming and going like songs on the radio. Static thoughts awaken her.

She lifts her body up and catches a glance of herself on the wall. Her eyes are wide and cloudy, eyelids smeared over with last night's makeup. Her hair is knotted and hanging along the sides of her face. She smiles at herself. She laughs at herself. She thinks she's funny. She thinks she's sad.

The phone never stops ringing, and sometimes she answers it. Her voice is rich and dark and thick. She speaks of wild things. She speaks of danger. She tells secrets to dark men. She sings lullabies to no one. Or she silently sits as the telephone rings.

When night comes crashing down on the horizon, she steps out into the city streets. Her stride is elongated and elegant. Her eyes penetrating the surface. Her body is invincible. Her beauty is infinite. The moon reaches for her, pulling her into waves. Waves of breath and scent and silence. Waves of desire. She marches tall into rooms of maroon carpets and baby grand pianos. She swings her hips and throws her head back with laughter, in rooms full of music. Her lips explore the faces and the bodies of the people who adore her. She rides home sweetly in the back of limos, her body warm with alcohol.

The morning rolls over, delirious with sleep and hunger. Beauty lies heavy on the faded green mattress. Her arms, slim and glowing white, are hanging down the side of her bed. Flickers of dreams roll in and out of her mind: coming and going like songs on the radio. Coming and going like songs. On the radio. Coming and going. Coming and going. Dreams that last seconds. Dreams that last forever. Fading, fading, fading.

Static thoughts awaken her.

"Good morning," she whispers, "good morning."