a compass can point to whatever you want

These are the cheap tricks you like so well.

The twist, the hook, the bass line.

I seek you out always, always.

The flash of your teeth in the dark.

The curl of your lip, it’s alright.

You turned away and I don’t blame you, don’t point any fingers, don’t sharpen the tips.

You will always find me laughing.

Sick fucked up love is the thing

I know, I know.

Your finger on the dial and the hard glass bottom of a broken bottle

or it broke on you, anyway.

You still have the scar.

My connective tissue is made up of you

and you find me.