I remember standing half-drawn
and bent, my chin up,
listening to tall people as they watched
music videos above my head.
I was an acetate
slowly filling with alcohol,
emulsifying the New Year.
Suddenly, I was copied everywhere
as air crammed the ceiling
and got smashed beneath feet,
mixed in a cocktail of broken glass
and sheets of ice.
The yellow light peeled my eyes
back and back in hope
of being seen,
but time didn't bring friends,
or faces I knew
from the 6 years gone of school.
I cancelled the alcohol and stood,
drained of light, in the bar.
Unavoidably voyeuristic;
twisted faces trespassed
my memories; their opaque eyes,
familiar noses and once-known lips
lacked the sharpness of friendliness;
but in the pasteur of a bloodline,
traits get curdled in siblings' faces.
This was no longer my time.
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