Painted walls
and faces.
Smiling,
Laughing
Behind all their disgraces.

The dance.
The feel.
The touch.
The hope.
Drunkenly on a tightrope

Between fantasy and reality,
Following the herd in their slick sensual way
Or
Pure individuality
Molding the clay.

They move, they pace
Not a line on their face
No disdain, no pain
Just hot electric freedom
On the thrill ride of a drug induced game

Pills are popped.
Drinks are shot.
And the crowd keeps going
on
and
on.

While she sits.
In the corner there she sits.
Feeling her brain explode.
Feeling her insides implode.
While icy hands glide her warm skin.

Her breath, it stills.
Maybe it's from the pills.
Then the hands straddle her waist
For only just a taste.
They sink in, biting her soul away.