mutiny in obscurity

She turned around one more time, insecure so, her left hand quivered in the dim light like a leave in a fresh morning breeze.
Into obscurity she delved, into this velvety shimmering soft greenish blue.
Her gaze hit me in an unexpected way. It was, as if we both just knew but never, under no circumstances would bear to utter those words, smelling of deep orange red, like terracotta, crumbling down like the Mexican sandy rocks beneath my bleeding feet.
Yeah, it sounds pathetically dramatic in a way, the red rocks and the crumbling and tumbling and the blood mixing with the earth. What can you do, what can you do when you already know that self destruction doesn't necessarily work the way you want it to.
So oblivion, how to be attained? Where are you hiding, you elusive being? In the running waves? In the fleeting glimpses of past times that burn the skin of your tender heart like cigarettes living flesh, squeezing your soul, the juice, it tastes like yellow squash, like Mexico, like San Francisco and the Doors. Like the smell of burnt hair and meat and the dying heat of fading songs.
In obscurity she dove like a pelican dives into the ocean, spying a fish from far above, falling down from the sky like a stone, gravity at its best use, never for free, how can the pelican see from so far above? I don't know exactly what she expected or wanted or needed, but she must have seen something there, as she was, flaming into the sea.

When nobody can hear nor touch you no more, when everything is silent, when past and future are mute it is time for mutiny. In your own soul, in your very own obscurity. The last thing she seemed to say in this long moment of gazing into her oceanfilled eyes, was that she felt she had every damn right to have a catastrophe, a crisis, a mutiny. The smell of salty water, on her cheeks, on her lips, she licked it away and turned around one more time, waving good bye.

And so she was, in obscurity, trying to break through, with her emerald eyes, flaming into the sea.