Buzzkill
I've a bad feeling about this.
Perhaps the knowing then “what I know now”.
Do I do it all a first time?
Would I do it all again?
Ashtrays and egomaniacs.
One person in a score of bodies;
The one who wants to “get this party started”
Just as I make myself at home.
A tsunami of alcohol.
A cascading, tumbling, blinding force.
A sea of bobbing bottles
And my friends drift away.
So many shapes and sizes.
A thousand different flavoured paths
To a single destination
On the road to nowhere.
It's drinking down and pairing up,
It's a world of flesh and noise,
But I've found my quiet place to sit,
A bench across the street.
It's horror movie flashbacks:
The floating bassline carries screams
Of drowned idiosyncrasies
Inaudible to drunken ears.
A breeze recalls my loneliness.
Not the being on my own,
But the impossibility of sharing
In the homogeneous fun.
A stone among nuts.
The blender tears them all to dust,
But all it has for me
Are outraged screams.
Homeward bound,
My own room, music, company.
The buzzkill's welcome to his thoughts
On his own time.