If cannot sleep,
Go to “insomnia”
which is in the middle of the slope.
He will ask,
What do you wanna drink?
I will say,
I’m gonna have a tequila.
And we dance.
My glass is filled up with transparency,
the floor is full of insomniacs,
who love fluorescent neons,
floating in muddy midnight.
I pretend not to feel lonely,
And dance again.
We have the power,
As if kings and queens of this kingdom.
But we all know, in a few hours time,
We become miserable in the morning sun.
Then, our insomnias melt like ice creams.
Nowhere to go back but to the reality,
being transparent in a commuting train.