Crowded Spaces

I’m tired of crowded spaces.

“Rumor has it,” street fights,

Strangers masked in happy faces,

And just enough booze to see without lights.

But I see you, always.

Lurking in the darkest corners of your shell,

Popping pills, swinging clubs for days,

Wondering which identity to sell.

And you think you’re sly.

But we’re kids; you hide, I seek.

I know your lows when you’re high,

And you’re threatened by the truth I speak.

It gets boring, in these empty crowded spaces.

Plastic cups, plastic people, plastic feel,

Wasted judgement, rapid paces,

Simply craving something real.