The Noise Floor

The music is thumping a hole in the wall.

I’m shouting a joke that has no point at all.

The pizza is greasy, the crusts are a pile,

and I’m wearing a very expensive, fake smile.

We’re sitting together but I’m miles away,

trapped in the things that I can’t seem to say.

I’m chewing on nothing and nodding my head,

feeling like someone who’s already dead.