The room is just shaking, so is your bonce. Your hair. It is everywhere. Your eyes don’t catch a specific thing, no point no anything. The run around in the flashing lights, you dance your brain our, waste your sweat, as a present to whoever is interested. You don’t mind your wet shirt.
You forogt who you are and where; that’s why you’re happy dancing. Happy that the vibes are the endless beats- they won’t stop until you break. Go! Go and go and go! Waste it whatever it is you have. Escapism? Give a fuck. It’s your trip.
And who said it’s waste anyway? Can’t you decide by your own what is waste and what isn’t?
You find yourself frozen to death in the front of the club. You vomited in your own visage, your hair. Nice blond hair. The sad gray of an anymorninglight lies on your upper cheek. You smile. Get up. In a store, some cleanup.
You see a couple, freshly showered with warm cloths. can i’ve one of your jackets you wanna know. No, go away bitch the call you.
Your feet like gummy, you feel the lack of sleep and the dancing vibes. You forgot. Here you go.