this is 5 years and four thousand orgasms later   we’ve killed all the goths and we’ve killed all of the skaters      we’ve run around naked and run around cloaked   and I’ve broken my own heart   and broken your nose      this is our weapon made up of small gestures   and sweating love letters, gun powder and hope   this is our weapon and we will perfect it   we will perfect it and let the thing blow      there is no way to feel or fall or fade away   without losing days and days and days      until the days turn into years   and until all of the simple fears   turn into complexes and conversations   about lesbians, separate spaces      how long have we been yelling?   and what is this that you’re trying to sell me?      I miss beds with girls whose little head are filled with    hopes of having a stronger constitution   and dreams about a revolution      this is our weapon made up of small gestures   and sweating love letters, gun powder and hope      this is our weapon and we will perfect it   we will perfect it and let the thing blow