it was there. glittering and warm. with a well known smell.
now there is left; a wall. grey. a broken graffity you can see. the scheme of it.
the blood get frozen. your belly hurt. you felt good.
punched reloded. by the prettiest smile you knew.
warm by the alcohol. cold by the people.
music through the streets. a window open, shouting people, your last piece of the cigarette and a company you barely know.
a party too filled up with people too sweaty, too special. everybody seemed to be special. you… completely displaced. you felt normal. with your gin. and your wish to have a dance- with no one else but yourself. but there wasn’t enough space even for that.
went swimming, got a flou, forgot to put on your pants on your way back to the dancing city. then you lost your soul. didn’t even recognize it. but it doesn’t matter anyway.

put on your smile tomorrow morning, wash your genitals, get your hair done, brush your teeth, say what everyone wants to hear: then you’re there. normal and well done. dance little tiger. love your swatch.