Dancing Dead

You are always Dancing dead on the inside. Lots of drugs swimming with lots of alcohol, Moving your feet to the beat you taste But not the beat you feel. You are always Dancing dead on the inside And beyond the point of feeling— Comfortably numb from dizzied head to heart, Laughing at dry jokes To conceal the refuge of Indifference in your mind. You are dancing dead While I sit here, attentive, Absorbing every blow That comes from the mixing of your sweat With the perfume of a compromised girl. Dance dead. Lift your feet just a little higher. Stumble, intoxicated, from p.m. to a.m. Crowd surf— Anything is possible when you’re seeing double Except for finding stable ground When you are dancing dead Everything embodies perfection From the blaring speakers To the garbage bag that becomes the saviour Of the laundry on your floor— You are always Dancing dead in this shape shifting cave Where shadows of the drunk and drugged Flicker ominously on the rocky walls— Where we never look behind us To see the light.