I.
Drawn into its cavernous maw,
walls daubed bloddy from twisted design,
I sit, cowering and cornered,
fighting the tidal pull of relentless monotony.
Disconnected from craved company,
my fellows having offered quick surrender,
I watched their infection, tracking
their zombie-like forms' progress
to the place of gathering.
They are gripped by a synergistic fever:
it seems some unseen force coordinates, unknown.
But wait! Invisible yes, but my pounding drums
reveal the order in the seething mass before me.
Horror possesses my imagination,
as from the mindless morass of mush emanates
the intellect of youth, impaled
upon spikes that hang from the ceiling
like the incisors of some monstrous beast.
Someday, it shall eat me too.
II.
A point of entry, a flood of humanity.
The respected mingle with the despised,
and glorious intoxication blankets all,
save the corner I have purloined
and will not relenquish.
No drunken stupor this; rather
a celebration of regularity, of trustworthy beats.
Euphoria lives next door to the metronome.
Nicotine clouds crowd out the oxygen,
but the smokers' best efforts
cannot kill the party.
Regardless, these youths will bask in the glory of empathy
through the bass connecting their souls.
Disconnection is the price paid for a clear head...
would that the decision were not so simple.
-
Tales from the Discotheque
I wrote this after being dragged to a disco...does it make me look a bit insane? [To be said in the same tone as "Does my bum look big in this?"
]
And do you think it is better for the title to be at the top or the bottom, given that I don't actually say anything about it being in a discotheque in part I?
Sir Thursday
Don't look now, but I think there's something weird attached to the bottom of my posts.