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i never wanted to write of
hate, anger, lost hopes
and broken dreams.
but being one with
their so-called "living souls"
had given my hand
to faceless strangers,
both welcomed and not.

the thousands of merry-makers
hiding their skins
in black satin cloths
as they danced to the drumbeats
waiting for something
to fall from the sky.

i had joined them
at the center stage,
amused at the colored lights
touching our cold faces.

everything's far too familiar...
and only when i felt tired
did i realize,
an inch close to the heart,
i had been stabbed again.