This place is a prison
And these people aren't your friends
Inhaling thrills through $20 bills
And the tumblers are drained
And then flooded again and again...
~*~
These aren't friends
In a pub crawl wend
Buying cheap thrills
With ten dollar bills
.
I trade tales cavalier
Over rinds and beer
Frothy, foamy, nutty
And turnstile revelry
.
Where you'll end up
Inside a plastic cup
Bubbling in duplicity
Rock bottom, hit me
.
And rouse in a frock
Tick, pendulum clock
Sprawled in ballroom
Pierrot dancing tunes
.
By the candelabrum
Candlelight autumns
Feigning my glamour
When it's all clamour
.
Confetti is cascading
Réclames showering
Stale tasting perfume
Grey asbestos gloom
.
Her silky black dress
Most gorgeous mess
Perhaps; his tie loose
Scuffed Oxford shoes
.
Clinking champagne
Metaphysical games
Kill off the lively night
Decay 'til sunset light
.
Ending in a broom closet greed
Or under the bed with a canopy
Wake up with a migraine death
Curled up in a medicine cabinet
.
Oh, but these aren't your best friends
No more than the rules you will bend
Wineglasses refilling up until it's tipsy
Enjoy this bona fide apocryphal soirée.
~*~
What does it take to get a drink in this place?
What does it take, how long must I wait?
YOU ARE READING
Oneirology
Poetry♦♦♦ Oneirology: the study of dreams. Dreary reality intertwined with nuances of dreamy phantasm; for when my quill is spitting iridescent rainbow mirages instead of murky ink puddles. ♦♦♦
