By Mk Zariel
i watch you watch imagined static and wonder when
you’ll start to question the world beyond the blue light
trans journeys always fascinate you, except for yours—
a cis boy idolizing jane schoenbrun because it’s easier
than that pesky inward eye—you find the faded neon of
cinematic suburbs relatable—what would you find
if you broke open—why did i introduce you to any form—
of media besides your deeply irritating thinkpieces—
my mr melancholy my subversion of anything real
my only straight friend my undoing—
should we just sit and listen?
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