it's only slaughter, we're only liars, it's only blood

Standing in the center of concerts you realize how shottily put together the human body is. Clumsy feet, elbows that prod much too far outward, the inexhaustible scent of human sweat clinging to your clothes as the crowd ebbs and flows with the guitar pulses. I struggled against the shoulders pressing into my back and against my head, imagining my head popping like a grape in the center of the crowd. They'd find you absorbed into my brain matter.

Standing in the back of concerts you realize how much you miss the hair you've yet to touch; the hair you watched the wind explore and tug at.  You realize how wonderfully a gin and tonic would burn down your vocal chords that are already shot from shouting lyrics. You grab your best friend's hand and pull toward the fresh air like children pulling kites across fields the color of his hair and feel that infinite feeling creep into your toes again.

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