Night of the clubbing dead

Dream of viciousness and feeling lost.

Dream of bending over edges in high places and short skirts.

Dream of dark skies hiding neon colours in bricked rectangles.

Dream of bony fingers just clinging to their hinges, finding their way towards your mouth. Sucking them is accompanied by the very real fear that they might come off and you’ll be holding them between your lips.

Dream of violent altercation over who pissed on the floor, queue staying stubbornly intact all the while, through angry eyebrows and raised voices, a slammed door and a tut.

Dream of being summoned out with an arm in the air, giving a hateful glare but still having to traipse home with aching nubs for feet and never actually getting there.


At night, towns feel different.

Things happen in a different way.

I have vivid memories of traipsing round towns feeling bizarre,

feeling detached┬ábecause something strange or heartbreaking’s happened.

Weird chats happen in smoking areas and outside toilets.

Glass thrown about,


Feeling vulnerable in a sea of faces.

People’s eyes change.

Darkened rooms and arguments you wouldn’t like to come back from.

True fears unleashed as they squabble and blub out words

unheard of,

Lips release them into the night.