This is the laughter of death

This is the laughter of death.
The beats in your head and the people all around and there's lights and there's movement and there's people yelling and laughing and talking and lighting up and talking and laughing and drinking and talking and fucking and kissing and fixing themselves to a signpost saying "scarecrow without corn" and it's funny because we guard nothing and hide everything behind a batted eyelid and a smudge of lipstick on the cuff of your boyfriends shirt
In your sisters house.

We hide lies behind jokes
Slamming doors into brick walls because perhaps we like the sound of something else breaking than our eyes and our minds and our self esteem and this fragile little thing called dignity, ok mum!

And this fragile little thing called dignity is screaming from the skylight saying fuck you I exist! And pounding on the glass while you shed another pound of flesh for a shot of vodka and some dick.

Lay it heavy on me girl.
What is it exactly that you want?
Short skirts and short fuses can only lead you to so many minefields before you're crippled.