Chrysalis: What are you becoming in darkness?

Fourth morning after pill in less than a year. She says, this can't be good for you. Good for who? Ok, sure. Let's shuffle the deck and throw it out the window. Let's move into a palace made of aces and fools and fuck against the walls. Let's slide down the pole of transformation. How many he's can she survive, she asked my sister. Green eyes and ptsd. This other one: dreams of stepping on his dirty needles. And another one: paranoid schizophrenic, mad-man archetype. I tell her I like a certain aesthetic: girls morphing into hideous insects, kissing in front of Guernica- the perfect ratio of beauty and taboo and visceral, like snorting valium off a scratched record before fucking in his dirty bed, his feral pitbull licking the sweat off my neck and I keep thinking, is he going to bite my throat open, is the sun going to come up soon, are the birds singing to me- she says I get too close to danger. She says she dreamt of me spinning and spinning in my old tulle skirts and she wanted to dance, but she was tired of trying to be like me. She says we were in the falling tower, an old growth tree, the biggest in history. We lived on the thirty third floor and you could lean into the middle and see all the way to the bottom. She said I sat by a pond and pulled out a beautiful koi and held it up in front of her. She said she told me to put it back. She said, you are going to hurt it (you) can't breathe for long. She said I laughed, stubborn as a child and kissed it on its mouth. She started to cry. Finally, I let it go and when it swam away, she saw it had transformed, half woman. She was amazed. She said I said see, I told you so, I know what I am doing.