Root of all Evil

The world is falling apart at the seams, like a sweater after a bad wash - it looks the same, but it no longer holds its shape. A strange feeling is itching in my chest - somewhere between repentance and the urge for another sip of what destroys. It all sounds like a confession, said not in a church, but on a dance floor under neon lights, where saints and sinners stand in the same line for salvation. There's the pain of loss, and the temptation to stick your fingers in a socket again, just to feel alive. Sin, guilt, alcohol - it all intertwined into a single pulsating chord. And perhaps it's in this chaos that a strange happiness is hidden - the kind you'll definitely have to repent for later, but first you just want to dance.