The deafening cry screamed from all corners of the vast room. A countless flock of cotton stitched chairs, arranged neatly, though not for long.
The intertwining limbs, the strong smell of cologne. Caught in this rebellion, there is no place to seek silence, no space for the vibrations to hold.
Glistening colours beam into my once fragile eyes, unable to gather the sight of my surroundings.
The constant beating on the arch of my feet, obsessively flowing into my heart, synchronising as I continued to rise and fall, along with the rest of them,
like children’s toys being controlled with no clear purpose or intent.
The heavy smell of liquor blinded my bewildered mind, out of focus. Yet, still determined to stay trapped in the rhythm, caught in sheep’s wool. My smile is my makeup, covering every wrinkle.
Nonetheless, convincing ourselves of what a satisfying time this is.
Legs begin to throb, losing the ability to persevere. Bodies stacking to the bottom, escalating further down and with it, the perception of a longing endeavour.
Forcefully attempting to sink slowly into the deep, cold marble. Bottles and bottles scattered, lacking sanity for every event. Tugging skirts down through the migration.
Wondering about the time, when this anarchy would curtain.
As the drinks pour out, crowds curious for more, like seagulls on a beach. All of which have done this before, almost like it's their mother tongue.
When it dies, those seagulls scavenge off to another war zone, keen for more sand.
When they soar off, despite their broken wings. All that is left is me, along with the debris. Killing the music, yet now all I hear is a distorted glare.
Ending the search for silence, as it has already been found. Now, waiting for the children to come and play with their toys once again.