Don't be dramatic, mother said.
Try to be like you old man, father said.
At the constume party I wore clothes that showed,
I was trying too hard, the forked tongue.
Mother said, get out there!
Father just said, be yourself.
Watching me fumble my words,
recieving polite friendly toned refusals.
In the hoax smelling mirror room.
My parents were busy trying to put on their best clothes.
Rings and hats and accessories.
Never satisfied wth the fit. Scales down the length of me.
I fogged the glass up with my nude body,
it was all too real for the reflection, fangs squirted venom.
The hall of the costume party burst into flames.
Because a cigar fell near the six meter curtain.
It ran down from the ceiling wall like a beautiful dress.
Now in flames a satin nightmare obscene surreal.
The room transformed into one fat wide ember.
Ashes of brides maids and god parents.
Their gold and silver jewelry melting into the middle of the room.
In small molten pools fit for academic and sports trophies.
Or metallic gravestones with ogham engravings, serpent like.
Winding inappropriately through the vainglorious epitaph
Peering out from the mirror room.
just to see where the smoke was coming from.
Mother failed to repair the extending crack in the glass.
A snake extending it's body in the clear water perfection.
Father was looking for a mirror of grander proportions.
The deeper he went the more lost he slowly became.
The heat of the party room was intoxicating.
I stepped onto the ember floor with woolen shoes.
The rest of me naked and bewildered alien but flame resistant.
Noone saw me or heard me As I maintained the temperature.
Dancing, sparking droplets of flame on the smooth red hot floor.
The carbon slide marks matched the wrything track of a cobra.
I stopped, looked up in raw terror at the cctv monitors and cue light.
Blinking mockingly the block letters "perform".
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