Loud banter and vibration of the sound waves of music boomed;

and there sat he, on a plush red sofa, in between two strangers.

His glass of champagne glistened like the tear of a child just told her doom;

Not knowing that adulthood is inevitable and eventually, there’ll be a tomb.

He extends his legs out and smiles elegantly,

the pearly whites symbolizing his impeccability.

The suede polished leather shoes reflecting my non ability,

my non ability to be of such nobility.

His mansion was reviving the town, providing affluence and luxury to commoners;

became the heart it indeed, and to me, seems,

as if the heart was pulsating, providing a rushed heartbeat,

to those who wanted to keep a lively life, inclusive fun for elites and deadbeats

Sitting across from him, an aroma of an indefinite crispness:

cologne, whisky, cinnamon, cigars, Old Spice.

Symbolizing the covering up of a facade, one so precise;

but a designer suit and tie, an exaggerated laughter was not enough persuasion;

For I knew that without the mere sophistication,

without the muscle- tiring smile, or his sex appeal

there was a subtle abrasion, revealing vulnerability, distress and agony

In which he had to fulfill such a believable role to conceal.

This mansion, this desperate sense of regality, it was an empty, meaningless gathering,

and the night after, I looked over into his porch,

expecting to see him drinking scotch, seated lavishly, but instead I felt remorse,

as I noticed his absence and the sirens blaring, that bright yellow tape

and then the sudden realization that he had escaped,

off to a new revelry,

from which none had ever returned.