kind of fun

No one really knows,
or can think
to say the least.
Falling over
where the paint peels
and the edges
rip at your skin.

There’s just
too many drinks
in a single night of bars,
being humbled
after the long list
of those
who’ve turned away
and as we dance,
our sweat drips
and mixes to a beat
on this impossible floor
that won’t stop moving.

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About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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