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Fancy Parties

"In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars." - F. Scott Fitzgerald, 'The Great Gatsby'

Beautiful dresses.

Enchanting music.

Idle chit chat.

Rich foods and odd drinks.

The labyrinth of my brain is now a

Country road

With no inhabitants but music, fashion, and the weather.


I enchant and enthrall my audience,

But I’m not quite myself.

Those wise voices in my head are

Hoarse and have given up the hope of being heard over the noise.

And my words are delivered before I can seal them with my thoughts.


But still we dance and laugh.


I received an invitation out of obligations.

I heard words that soiled good reputations.

Characters in my head that I can’t mend to how I saw them before.


I crawl into bed.

My feet ache from shoes too tight.

I’m tired and don’t feel like a swim.

But a wave of all of my follies of the night crashes over me.

And I’m soaked in regret.


I don’t do fancy parties.

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Fancy Parties
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