Dark and pristine, night is here.
Crawling from the shadows are faces gripped with fear.
Fear of society, the shackles that enslave them.
Mirror on my wall reflects the game.
As I break my shackles and don the heels, the mascara and the dress. And don't forget the chapstick.
The tiny window is path to my freedom, a path that I travel more often than seldom.
My steps lead to a place so familiar.
The faceless strangers are much more comfier.
Downtown is just like this, night brings out pleasure and in morning vanishes like a dream.
These outcasts are just like me, morning shoos them away so they embrace the night.
Rolling in the numbness, till the dawn of the light.
Now I will have to travel back.
The tiny window looks like a jail.
Mirror on the wall still so brave.