Dissipation, drunkenness and the
worries of this life circle their prey;
the room dizzies, spins, sickening;
swirling skirts’ colours and patterns
staining the food, pulling you into the dance;
something is calling, falling …
snapping back into sharp-edged focus,
technicolor bright; something’s not right,
something’s not real;
the plastic grapes toxic instead of intoxicating,
the stunning view is taped inside the window.
The stage is set,
the die is cast,
the trap has been sprung.
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