To Rock Concerts

September 16, 2019

Bella Argentino

The resounding bass bouncing off of your poster-stained walls.

Each thump exerting a rivet and shackle throughout numerous skeletons
The souls of the lost drag themselves in, veins coursing with withdrawal.
Extortionate quantities of dopamine are released acting as a source of medicine
The heavy tones and sadistic strangers staple into one, promising peace and mental clarity.
Leading the riot, the collective lot pushes the drifters to release their emotions.
Both on the giving and receiving line, as if they feed off of each other in an endless cycle.
Jumping up and down with banging heads along to the rhythm gives a familiarity
Feeling, adrenaline pumping through the clustered theater in extreme doses.
The powerful message promoted out by your leading souls is prescribed in invisible vials.

She sways along with the casting melodies, black vans twisting on the dull concrete floor.
Hands entangled with a surplus supply of semi-full syringes.
Her and her lover with matching minds subconsciously move together, surrounded by gore.
They bounce around the room like they are the only people in the world, so unhinged.
His dark brown hair and red-stained eyes fit the attire, clothes loosely hung, blind in admiration.
She’s dressed in black, head to toe, her eyes are cloaked with captivation, glancing up at him.
Just an imaginative state, that’s all. A high of some sort, a getaway.
The two combine with the rest, a family forming with the hoarse screams, a deep infatuation.
Plastered in happiness the two dance away the night, the floor covered in grim.
Flashing lights and speakers booming with boisterous beats, the undead displayed.

Without the euphoric sensations that are provided by the sounds, the world would be cold.
Cold as in troubled souls wouldn’t have a place to be free and let go.
The silence that fills the night would deteriorate the once lively individuals ridiculously slow.
Unconventional therapy would be non-existent, and the dead wouldn’t glow like so.
The heavyweight on the despaired loners' shoulders would still rest, guilt devouring them alive.
Murky nights would not have a purpose anymore, just a simple time of day.
Dawn shall arrive and the searchers would still be begging for some sort of release.
You already know this, but without you, none of them would ever survive.
The pathetics would roam aimlessly on the cluttering streets dizzy and stray.
Without the moon, without you, there's no significance to the deceased.