Septic

It's as if you're stuck in an elevator between the floors of psychotherapy and a party. Everything seems to be on fire - your skin, your stories, your inner dialogue - but it's no longer drama, it's almost a style. Sins with filters, tears under glitter, fragile ‘normalcy’ with a hint of an error code. The song is like a selfie from a mental basement where someone has turned on a neon light for some reason. And now you're smiling, not quite genuinely, but beautifully nonetheless.