Too high; your nails, your dress was black.
Your heels pointed, too high.
You smoked again as you were over with one,
Tens of cigarettes and oceans of shots at once.
Species of stalkers were observing you,
This attention, that light-head, this hangover- it’s new, for you.
But this? It isn’t you.
You were talking to the wall,
I had to hold you; you were walking with chronic falls.
You were dancing to chords of anybody’s choice,
You danced, you sang, you drank, you puked.
In that maddening crowd, you screamed.
I was right there, I could sense a quake in your voice.
You swayed with everyone in the pub.
They all know your name, your favorite drink, your ex-boyfriend’s name; finer details about you!
I give you my word, I am not taking you to any more clubs.
The bouncers had to pick you up, the bartender had to be stopped.
The DJ was mute, you were not.
It was already 4’o clock!
The cabby drove us to the ridge.
We had to jump out of the car, we had to run over the bridge.
Once at home, you needed serious aid.
You seem to be okay with your injuries now,
Can we please share your ache?
Why were you at a party if you were sad?
‘I was doing such a good job of hiding it. How could you tell that?’