[ WP ] Songs stuck in your head are warnings .

“ Is this real? Real Real 
 Is this real? Real? Reeeal? 
 
 The loud caustic sounds of beats and bass tapers off and mixes with a rhythmic thumping- heavy and leaden. The glittering gold and silver mirage of those faceless but beautiful young women, white teeth, pink soft lips, taunt and smooth bodies- all that vanishes. Replaced with the harsh glare of midday light filtering through the wooden blinds and the constant interval shatterings of metal through the paper thin walls. 
 
 “ What the hell… ” with a heavy head I turn and the world spins with me in dizzying circles. I pick up my phone, turn it on. The number 1:25pm. 
 
 A sensation of shock run through my body- how did this happen? 
 
 Groggily and wiping away the dried remnants of last night from the sides of my mouth I make my way to the bathroom. Memories start to ebb back into my consciousness. Its Sunday morning now, but I went to a party last night at the new club, the live band Japanese style rock heads, sexy smooth, the drinks were sweet, that girl- sweeter still. There ’ s still clothes scattered around the hallway, a strappy black stiletto in the handlebar of the staircase. Walking into the bathroom, water flooding from the sink, a couple splashes cold and refreshing on my face. 
 
 I wipe away the condensation from the mirror- that ’ s strange. I don ’ t remember turning on the shower, looking to the frosted, glass doors theres a figure in there. Billowing out are clouds of steam and there is the murmuring of soft words, humming a tune, familiar but almost lost in the denseness of falling water. I walk over to the shower, but before I can get there I slip. Arms outstretched shielding my face, I crash through the glass door. 
 
 “ Tsk tsk, should be more careful ” 
 
 She ’ s crouched by me and wearing my face, she takes my chin in her hand, points it upward and there on the ceiling, written in black, right above my head are the words 
 
 “ what is real? ” 
 
 A droplet, smooth and supple, coalesces, gathering mass. It grows fat and massive planet sized, and falling from the tip of the question mark it descends straight at me. 
 
 …. 
 
 The buzzing of the alarm clock on my nightstand, grating but familiar. I ’ m awake, turning on my phone, 7:25AM Monday. 
 
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 to tune of Miyavi ’ s Real 
 
 https: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=t8nbgm-bPIU 

