Smokes and Keyholes

By Aarushi Chakraborty

 (Verse 1)

Fluorescent humming, heartbeat on the wall,

hands in my pockets, I pretend I’m not small.

Ciggies in a jar like trophies I don’t need,

ring of cheap lights and static in my teeth.

Fast pulse, tight chest — the city’s tapping code,

we’re rat-race racers in an unlocked, locked road.

(Pre-Chorus)

Breathe in, breathe out — get louder than the doubt,

tongue tastes like pennies, and the room is selling out.

(Chorus)

We’re running in a tiny room — escape room, feel the boom,

slam the lock, pry the gloom, spit the smoke, swallow the moon.

I’m punk and I’m pretty-ugly, neon bruise and broken tune,

drink the night, swallow truth — can’t find the key, but I’ll leave soon.

(Verse 2)

Strobe flashes memories I don’t remember making,

alphabet of scars, all my promises are shaking.

Bottles like confetti, confessions in the sink,

fast-breathed anthems, nowhere left to sink.

I press my ear to the door but the noises chew my name,

a carnival of panic that I learned to entertain.

(Pre-Chorus)

Hands shake, laugh fake, keep the panic in the frame,

say my name, say it soft — then torch it with a flame.

(Chorus)

We’re running in a tiny room — escape room, feel the boom,

slam the lock, pry the gloom, spit the smoke, swallow the moon.

I’m punk and I’m pretty-ugly, neon bruise and broken tune,

drink the night, swallow truth — can’t find the key, but I’ll leave soon.

(Bridge — fast, clipped)

Keyholes stare like tiny mouths,

I tape my heartbeat to the wall.

Scratch the code with cigarette crowns,

hold my breath until I fall.

Glass whispers, sirens hum,

I laugh because I can.

Run faster, ankles numb,

I’m a kid with a war plan.

(Breakdown — whispered then screamed)

Lock it, knock it, set it on repeat —

my lungs are lava, my smile’s concrete.

Escape room eyes, escape room skin,

I’m breaking out by breaking in.

(Chorus — louder, punk edge)

We’re running in a tiny room — escape room, feel the boom,

slam the lock, pry the gloom, spit the smoke, swallow the moon.

I’m punk and I’m pretty-ugly, neon bruise and broken tune,

drink the night, swallow truth — can’t find the key, but I’ll leave soon.

(Outro — breathy, fragile)

So pass me one more cigarette-lit lie,

I’ll trade it for a midnight lullaby.

Fast and hollow, but I’m moving through —

smoke & keyholes, and I survive you.

By Aarushi Chakraborty