We stare, starry eyes bulging and garish,
Pulsing pop anthems fueling the astro twitch
In our chest cavities (they're far too hollow,
jagged first cuts gouged what little emotion we had left).
Backs curved into question marks, tears diluted,
Left to evaporate in the haze of distorted electro
And desperately jousting bodies, us,
This self proclaimed failure of a generation.
We were so f***ing beautiful.

When we met, in the depths
Of conviction shattering numbness,
I was flailing, crusty and bitter, touched by
The presumption of touch,
We found each other necessary,
A warm body pressed against mine,
It was all so shockingly intimate
And yet not at all.

Thrown into the frigid waters of a pop song
Naked and unprepared, shivering, but ecstatic,
Grasping warily to fish each other out,
Yours, the one voice the synthesizers couldn't overcome.
I had somehow fumbled my way into your heart,
Left to shout, with vocal cords like sticks and stones,
The lyrics to an anthem I had once condemned as the
Vapid mutterings of the voices in my head.