House of Nezua [Libro]

the pain is everywhere, it is a dancer, a frantic dancer, my nerves are fluttering with sensation so pure it is poignant, it is an orchestration of  song, my body melting into strains of  what might be music, i can’t be sure, it all bends during the intense moments and things overlap, i feel the roots of my dying tooth viciously sprouting into my jaw, i rub my neck to try and stop it from spreading, but i cannot, the heat flares up under my skin, my eyebrow, gently claw at my forehead to try and grab it, my skin shudders agony but then it fibrillates into near-orgasmic pleasure and i can’t tell where any of it ends or begins. for a moment the siren backs off and the relief that fills my heart is huge, but the dancer knows not what he wants yet, who he is, what is purpose and what is pointless and so the feeling swerves and doubles over and then blooms anew and half of my face radiating an invisible icy net and i try to think of what is in my hands, it’s three ibuprofen, i can’t remember what time it was, the last two i took were this morning, werent there also two at about four am? whatever, this will have to be it for a while and if this doesn’t work there’s always whiskey, the pain is now under my eye, it has its hateful, angelic, petal-thin hands scooped underneath my cheekbone and is cupping my eyeball with a panicky grip and i can feel the whisper-bright devil breathing, my eye beats like a quivering drum with each reverberation, i stare ahead and weep. all language has ceased to mean anything reasonable there is nothing left to do but dance