A Poetic Phase

the room is a white palace. there're tables symmetrically lined with cloths topped by candles. there's an endless buffet of food rich with nutrients. lights sparkle the ceiling like stars sparkle the sky. here we dance high on drugs. i personally recommend the leftover valium. some of us were explicitly not invited, but smoked joints in our cars before coming in. it is a celebration and the wine is free. tonight, for once, we don't have to consider all we fail to be. some of us are to vain to have a good time, other too high to arrive on time. most of us are early. our lives are empty. we have no better place to be. there are women dressed in roses picked before their blooms. men who spent the afternoon rolling in grass. i suppose we are all green when it comes to dancing. some of us are more gorgeous than others. we have dressed in white, shades picked from summer clouds, our falls have passed our winters warmed. but most of us, in this white room, are sullen and black, sneaking pills into each others' drinks. but the night could night advance, nor could it succeed, until we blew out all the candles--bringing darkness to light.