The pattern of the strobe,
followed the bass line,
mimicking the petrified pounding of my heart.
It didn’t have to be a big deal,
but it was me,
of course it was.
I have a habit of rising from my watery grave,
staring up at the stars,
and inventing reasons to be anxious,
about the simplest things.
I scorched the Earth,
in sensible heels,
on my way to break out of the chains I put myself in.
I was going to be free,
in a very subdued sense,
presenting my secrets to the underground wonderland,
with my heart in my throat,
and my throat in the clutches of my dream girl.
I don’t come here often,
but I plan on making a habit of it.