Doors cracked, lights dim, colors beam ugly truths across my face, unfamiliar hands search, no comfort in a chair-less booth, secreting the perfume of skin sweating off bodies consumed in pleasure not found at home from broken lovers and sleepless nights on a couch or cold bed sheets, untouched on his side. Lost in the fear of not knowing where you are isn't as scary as waking up to sudden realization of where your life has led you to that moment. Whispers turn to half-hearted speech, take three steps back and assess the situation before you're bent on your knees, confirming your future isn't so bad considering you've prepared for this your whole life, the actuality of it has never sat so disgusting in my head, festering on a thin line of the lover and the liars words that go in one ear, and out the other, an infection that you could only pray would slowly kill you, not wanting to see any more of this life, the past is ugly, it levels out with this moment, opens my eyes, tells me to wake up but he whispers I'm dreaming, yet every nightmare is just a reminder that I'm breathing, not necessarily to live. I never lied to lie, the truth doesn't even hurt, it's just so ugly.