Tuesday, January 6, 2015


The night is old. Old and rotting. You can see it in people's faces. In the way they kiss, in their music, in their drinks, in the way they pretend they don't care.
You can do whatever you want in your life.
As long as it makes a lot of money,
as long as it's socially acceptable,
as long as it's prestigious,
as long as it's what your parents expect of you.
Haunted by the ghost of opportunity.

Go dance your morbid dance. I refuse to move. 
And when it's my turn to get the drum, I will break it into a million pieces.

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