Pariah

Hypnotized by the aura of stage lights,
the staccato heartbeat of drums
that emanated from speakers,
I craved a dingy roadhouse,
the bar entrances off alleyways.

Every blue moon
in college,
I would sneak off
late nights, my body
drowning in navy
hoodies and baggy Girbauds,
my dreadlocks tied in knots.

Wine cooler in hand,
I’d stand a second from
the whirlpool of mosh pit,
instruments clashing,
like the thrashing bodies
of those white boys,
feedback shrieking
herself into desolation.

On those nights,
a skeleton key turned
inside me,
singularity’s bony fingers
wrapped around my throat.