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Slippers and Static

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In the back of his head there are dancers.

Their heels drag across his thoughts, causing him to look away from the paper in his hands.

He lets them dance across the notes coming from his headphones.

He watches them in an empty room take their static forms.

They are static. 

This static he sees everywhere forms all that comes from him.

He looks in a mirror and sees not himself but a face made of the same static his dancers are.

It's not him.

He swears to himself every night that it isn't.

But there's still doubt.

What if it is?

What if he isn't the static everyone has knew?

He shakes his head.

His family would tell him it's nothing

and maybe they are right.

Maybe this uncomfort will pass.

Maybe.

Until then those dancers will make his heart race.

Cause him to pause.

Cause him to wonder.

They'll drag their poisonous heels and slippers.

With blurred faces

of only static.

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