your barely audible whispers
amongst the constant echoes
the fading, constant echoes
of repetitive dance beats
and background dance beats
and the nonsensical chatter
of digitally edited females
near sparkling glasses
with tomato sauce splatters
and wannabe tropical plants
reaching to the sticky ceiling
of nauseous, sweeping fans
and blue neon lights creating
mysterious illuminations
are lost.
i wish
that behind your spinning
gleaming dark locks
and the scintillating look
that melts my shrivelled heart
from those deep eyes
and moisturised complexion
of perfectly toned skin
there was some fondness
rather than fake touches
and long awkward silences
filled only by a bad joke
which you laugh too hard at
and subsequently dribble wine
onto your bleached white top
and you loath my presence.
if i was in your high-heeled shoes,
i'd hate me too.
