[Contest Entry 2011] A place where everyone knows your name

Sitting silently in his room, a boy contains his sorrow in the tiny match
Box that which is his heart.

Same old song, same old dance. He has an unrequited love
sharp as beer bottle glass, a loneliness of black soaked sludge.
The boy trapped in a rock slide slump. He turns to the one nirvana.

A machine siphon up all the aggression, the melodrama, and the frustration.
The hunk of silicon and plastic that shines brighter then that globe in New York City.

Tis the New Year, where you can hit the restart button.
Tis the season to be with friends, enemies, and trolls alike.

Turn on the new, and turn off the old. Realize that you are not alone.
Just say Fakku and use those fires of sorrow to forge the incomplete mess that is you.