My Meditation on Hell: The Cocktail party
She knows my name,but not my face and leads me to the room to await the arrival of the ones who know my stomach, liver and veins as well. “They’re fashionably late,you see,but feel free to mill and meet the host.” I hope that black blends well as I blush,brush between reds , greens and gilded golds. The practiced,painted ladies pause, in bad faith bat their eyes and compliment my colors.I counter-compliment to secure my standing as the sacrosanct turns sour and another round is served to drown the hollow words.