You hate how you look with the lights off. With the stuff under your skin shining out through your pores and beaming onto your walls, like a nightmarish disco ball full of the s*** you give your friends and the nice words on the tip of your tongue you never say, but instead keep locked away inside you to fester with the mold from your past. Pull of the string lifts the cheek and the foot and you dance like someone without toes, or without a backbone. Bent and blubbering on the stairs, these are the same words you said to the person before this and the person after. Everyone owns the same pair of jeans, scuffling and pressing fingers to tired stomachs and full bladders and rude hard-ons, all their eyes looking identically blue and dull, your eyes must be bad because they burn when they stare into other souls, and heart rabbit fast, lips flinching into a smile, teeth barred, claws out, you look away and grin.