And there she was, a rough scab on a smooth perfect knee, with a chalky cigarette between spony fingers, chipped red painted nails, matching crimson accenting glossy white walls. She knew she was dreaming because of the bloody sun in the middle of the room, chapped lips cracked with scarlet staining teeth, surgical gloves reaching out from her beating heart, held in by pale marked skin, needles pricking gums, calling upon beads of ruby, and scissors and canines fall out one by one. Heavy tongue tastes squary wine, indifference and apathy sistering one another. Stitches hold right-handed fingers in permanent crosses, though an open ring falls through, the shattering crystal lights the room ablaze, and tangible flames like the ceiling as it rises in the floor sink. ever expanding room flashing over and over and endless continuity, like a repeating real of film catching on fire and then she was gone.