My feet shuffle past your doorstep, concrete sidewalk meeting brass boots in a shower of apathetic sparks. I'm just trying to put on a show, keep the fucking lights on through winter, but there's a whiskey buzz that always seems to dim the energy.
You're warm inside your cocoon of chaos, and I can see your window blinds strain to hold it all inside, keep the fucking lights on despite your childish belief that there's someone hiding in every shadow.
We live in cold, intoxicated unreality, never sleeping, holding out hope that the lamp in the corner will keep us safe. My feet shuffle past your doorstep, inching forward relentlessly.
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