parties are the end of the world.
ive been invited to a party this saturday.
i think i will go,
i think i will get as drunk as i can.
to feel the painful crushing weight of the sunday hangover.
im going to act as if i am in a french film.
i will tell each person a different lie,
tell them something i've made up about myself.
these people dont know me.
dont know me at all.
but whats more likely, is that i will take a sip
and spill each little nodule of my soul and heart onto
the threadworn rug of the student flat i'll be trapped in.
and i'll fall in love with a boy who doesnt even look my way.
and even in the darkened rooms of a student flat,
he will ponder my spilled soul
and decide i could never be the one.
not in a million parties, not even at his drunkest.
and in my drunken state this will feel like the end of the world.
but a song will play, and i will forget this world ending boy.
and i'll find the girl who is collecting my noduled soul,
and i'll kiss her on the head.
we sat in a lecture together, picturing this moment.