This year felt like acupuncture to the steamrolled skin you clung
while everything else crumbled away that always felt like middle ground.
Yet somehow tears in silence won, somehow it was still me,
when my body was more of a comfort than my words could ever be.
I paint my world in a pixel spray. You lose some details, but that's okay.
I'd rub the film till my face is gone, or reeled, or warped, or encased in a song,
and how I liked you best when you pried me wide and we swam and pointed
from the empty inside. Laughing at the scaredy-cats, scared of their own void.
It's safest here; my solenoid.
And sometimes I think the most beautiful thing is the sight of smoke rising from my lips,
and you in ether. That endless masquerade - your eye holes cut too big.
Plugging gab with nihilism, accelerating the end,
sucking on our death sticks was the most we could ever bend.
I paint my world with ins and outs. You lose the whirl but clot your clout.
I'd break my heart to break your mind when the pixel paint begins to bind
and how far I felt when I was inside and I shook your hand but never thought I lied.
How I hurt you and I hurt you with the things I can't avoid.
And look who always wins: my solenoid.
And when I dropped my anchor in your eye I could not see to see.
And you said nevermind before you spoke.
But this is what I purchased, shrinkwrapped and on sale.
This is what I wanted: to fuck and weep and fail.
This is all I know. It's all I feel when you go.
And when you spiral back, you are my keel. You're my fact.
And if I melt your faces to one seal, you're more place
than this, than all I see, than all you healed inside me.
I never saw you. I never knew you. You're only there in my drawer (a polaroid).
And it never pleased me to make it seem easy. It's just that we've met before.