Nightclubs Poem by Yohan Confectioner

The twenty somethings
The thirty somethings
The forty nothings
Jostling, rubbing,
To swayed frivolity

Thoughts buried
By the blast of the bass
The stank sweat of perfume
Reeking of I matter
The pounding of feet that
Wish to rule the earth
Strobe lights stretching its arms
Over the oblivious souls
Whose hope is drowned by alcohol
And courage quantified by it
Dreams left at home
Loneliness escaping into
The hands of strangers
Fear swallowed by the crowd
Happiness a point to prove
The need to do something
In order to realise you don't need to do it

Larkin wrote about it
Bukowski must have
And so shall I

Men
With their roving eyes
On thighs
Cleavage
Women
Who are done with men
Pining to be the object
Of their desire

To the hundred hungry souls
Perhaps
Heaven is a place on earth
I envy their belief
We all need our wins

Outside
A couple argue like it still matters
A guy bowls out his guts
like he has something in them
Two women regret asking him for a ride home
The streetlamps have made way
For the colours of dawn
The stray dogs have found the answers to life
I hear someone say
"Let's do this again, soon".