This night is cold and lifeless, like a corpse in a morgue, waiting to be cut into, dissected, discussed and buried. I am still as I can be, but my body shakes, my chest heaves with the warm forced breaths I take, entertained as I am by the dispersion I see. This is my time, but I'm selling it to them, and I'm a cheap date. They’re watching. I know what they want from me, but I'll give it to them at my own pace.
My stomach turns and reminds me of the night’s transgressions against it. I am guilty. The vivid colors that surround me under the bright lights sometimes trap me. there is no one to say "stop." all the words that run through my head are waxing poetic of many very different places and very different times, none of which are particularly useful to a man like me. Some strike me, but most just fade past into the lonely night, and I envy their ability to abandon me.
I'll wait, longer than I should. Eventually, I too shall break away, and separate myself from the night that has held me, but it won't matter. In my freedom, I will sink further with my attempts to deny everything that I am. I will lose myself in the hopelessness of everything that I am not. Even if I could trade intellect for charm and wit, even if I could reshape the mess of living ruins that holds me, I could never escape myself.
Another night comes and I am theirs again.