we may have abandoned religion, but this is our mecca. because for months we’ve been depositing our anguish into piggy bank hearts & the time has come to crack them open & leave our haul on this beer can littered floor. unclean melodies reach into our chests & pull out the target of their affection. bigger bodies become hammers & our invested, fractured feelings leak out of ceramic wounds while we play a game of bumper cars for the broken. it isn’t anarchy for it’s governed by music & a moment. and in the moment the aroma of testosterone & forgotten deodorant crowdsurfs its way through this mob that isn’t armed with pitchforks but with passion. it isn’t pretty, but we’re blind beneath blue lights. get lost in the song that found me, & for a moment, forfeit stability just to serenade my senses. lose footing & add scrapes to beat knees, but strangers become brothers & put me back on faulty feet & adrenaline stitches each wound in time for the final refrain. with only three minutes left, there’s nothing to lose, except maybe a tooth or two, but we’ll worry about wounds later, for blood could very well be hair dye stained sweat & our conscious telling us to sit down is drowned out by the drums & we’ve finally found a way to take internal ache & channel it somewhere with more of a penchant for pain. so we take a hit off the final verse & scrape up enough energy to throw our bodies at each other like we were once one, & are trying to be whole again. we’ve already soundproofed our souls & the endorphin high hits so we don’t fret about the bruises, they’ll be like temporary tattoos adding art to our temples