NIGHT FEELINGS

Caustic, manic, desire.
A fever dream on fire.

My thoughts thump to an accelerating kick drum in my chest. I feel the tendons in my legs stretch as the drugs pulse through my system. My spine arches as a surge of serotonin overtakes my wetware.

"Are you sure you want to party hard?"

The bartender asks if I need some water, and I feel the bottle start to crumple in my hand as my muscles tense into another roll.

The lights flash and the crowd has grown. A current of desire urges us into a writhing mass. The heaving flesh crushes me in a sweaty embrace.

I lost my bag, and I don't care. The lap I'm in is warm and the tongue in my mouth warmer. The gouges in my back drip the first hints of a good memory. A finger adorned with a piercing acrylic spike smears the taste of rust against my tongue. I bite down hard and savor it. My breath is heavy against the side of their shaved head -- the bold strokes of tattooed flesh glimpsing through the cover of the surrounding stubble.

A sharp burn oozes from the teeth marks around my neck. I'm sprawled across the cushions of a synthetic couch soaking up the radiation from a blazing video ad for the latest commercial upper. My hair is plastered against the chest of the human under me.