In a room, full of all the people
I never really liked.

Empty hearts,
crowded minds.

The voices are louder,
I can hear them eating.

I move outside, to the air,
a cigarette, all to myself.

But they're out here too,
pretending that they love each other.

If only they could hear,
see, themselves, as I can.

Maybe, they'd end drunken,
fumbles in the dark.

Take back those 'I'm not a
racist but..' sentences.

But they're too lost in crisps
piled like mountains.

And tales of other stupid people
doing more stupid things.

And their empty hearts,
compete,
with their crowded minds.