We marched into the thick of town, laughing and hollering like
Jovial soldiers of the night. The sky was dark & poetic , as we succumbed to its drunken beauty. Night's like these were meant to be enjoyed, savoured- for what was yet to come, we could not escape.
Staggering around town like a drunken platoon, we ended up at the Ulster Sports Club, a place so decadent and mysterious we had to sell our souls in return for a one way ticket. But, it was worth every penny of it. With low hazy lights that aligned the corridors and a special style of liveliness like that of the 90's- we were on cloud nine.
Electro beats and foggy disco lights gave the place a retro vibe, as people of all ages and shapes boogied and grooved as they became slaves to the music. It was utterly beautiful. Beer was guzzled and shirts came off, as we staged an act of defiance against social conventions- this was our paradise, and rules were meant to be broken. And as the lights came on, a chorus of "One more song!" erupted. We staged a rebellion, for the night was not over yet. Eventually, the time to retreat came upon us, as we threw down our conquering swords to surrender. We grabbed our things, our bags and coats and made off; walking into the dead of night like soldiers returning home from battle.

Prepped
Shaved and clean
Feeling Shiva tonight
End of the world

Knowing fate
Intro to Outro
Fateful fornication
With a light

The wait is over
Floor cracked
Drinks have gone
Astray

my lungs are made of sunbleached storms
and unfinished poems,
stalled and trapped in a cycle
of kisses under the disco lights
and muddled
phonograph records;
it's been so long
since they last sealed
my comets shut;
its ice, dust,
ammonia, sadness,
now trying to spill
out of my chest
every time i sigh a word.

that's what club music is good for;
they mask the sound
of breaking down;
the sound of
bodies and meteors
falling apart;
each noise drowns out
my unsent letters,
and restroom meltdowns,
and my voice, saying your name
over and over and over again
as i come undone
on a stranger's lap.
he looked almost just like you —
and then he didn't.

and my comets almost all stayed,
but they didn't.

and i was almost just alive —
and then i wasn't.

honey, the world got us all wrong —
brewing *****, noise
and ash-brown eyes
across the floor —
it's happiness until it isn't;
in the end,
we're still comets
melting into solar flares
and forlorn figures
that never make it home.

the music fades.
the glasses fall.
it's 8 am, and we still wake up
to the suntrails of all the things we'd lost.