I stand by the window that makes up
the wall beyond the railing,
and look over the people mingling
on the floor below me.
Women in close fitting dresses,
that stay on only due to friction,
sip gold from plastic and flirt
with anyone they want.

A seven dollar cup of wine burns
my chest like church, and through
the decorative birch strewn
about the walls I see pencil drawings
done by children from a school in the city.
They are all abstract, lacking dimension,
but full of grit, and unafraid to show the horror.

The lights flicker and I remember where I am
she grabs my hand and leads me back
to where our seats are.
The chandelier above me spins like the blood
around my brain, and the curtain on the stage
breaths along with the chattering crowd.
The music begins, starting solid and loud,
and she whispers to me
she gets tickets whenever she wants them.

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