Sparkles on the eyelids turn into stardust under the light of purple spotlights. We exist in the gap between depression and ecstasy. I look at her, and the world around me crumbles into pixels. She is my most beautiful nightmare and my only way to feel alive. Her laugh sounds like a broken beat, her gaze is like a flash of magnesium in the dark. We're running from reality, hiding in the smoke and heavy bass. There is no tomorrow in this world, there is only this moment: sticky, bright, endless. We are two broken mirrors reflecting a neon frenzy, trying to make sense of pure visual noise.

Neon light hurts the eyes, turning reality into a blur of glitter and glitter. We are two sparks in an endless digital noise. I feel her presence like a low-frequency hum in my chest, like a pulse of blue neon on her cheekbones. She is my personal trip, the aesthetics of chaos and the perfect frame. We are drowning in this euphoria, where the senses are hypertrophied, and time stands still between the inhale and the flash of the strobe light. All around us there is noise, empty conversations and a cold gloss, but inside us there is only a pure, tangible electric current. We don't just exist. We glow until we burn out.