When the masquerades are over

When the masquerades are over by dardenitaaa

Vivid were the brevities of our colorless Saturdays,
For all they are were beautiful clockworks, perennially tainted
By inevitable spirals;
Blunt crayons of boredom,
Momentary antidotes to restlessness:

Apple-red lips, beckoning sweet senseless talks
Guest-lists of tired strangers—invited to fill the spaces of some claustrophobic’s club
Dancing lights and irregular heartbeats echoing
The unheard silence amidst the techno fuzz
Shrieking over little victories on poker games,
Plunging into pitch-black intoxications

In our hunt for infinite joy, we find:
that the thirst goes on forever.


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