Nights either end too quickly or carry on for far too long- it's the always-present unwillingness to accept that things have to end, have to finish, have to disappear in eternity.
The creatures, they come out at dusk, full of unanswered yearning within their souls, searching, in hopeful desperation pushing the façade of good times still to be had.
Drops of poison remaining on the strained, painted lips, and powders disappear through the rolled-up notes into the nostrils.
Long enough and everyone starts getting lost in the moment of these Dionysian nights.
Masks start to slip off, falling to the sticky floor covered in sick and expectations.
The works of art carved in stone start to crumble like granite.
The horror lies not in strangers seeing you for the beautiful mess you are; it's the inevitable face off in the mirror with a naked reflection of a subdued mind.
Fear stripped the outer layer of paint, leaving a defenceless medley of colours, rust and raw emotions;
this swaying creature that's supposed to be you, having fun, is just you – confused and unsure of who you are any more.
All you do know is what you don't want – to spend your life as a shadow.
You know that a night spent embracing a stranger is better than a stranger night alone.

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