The ChinoPoster stepped outside.
It felt good to be a troon.
He wished he was drunk,
Thought about something he just posted,
And how soi it had sounded
He knew he should forget about it
And decided to piss, but he couldn't...
(His mom passed silently by his room, the streetlights, and the bugs in the basement and the night, were still.)

It finally came, he took a deep breath.
It made him feel strong, and determined,
To go back in /qa/.

The soi.
Their 'jaks.
The conversation.
The posters, 'quoting, so natural.
The Chinofags stare,
With eyes, like the heads of nails.
The others.
Glances.
With amusement,
With evasion,
With contempt.
So distant,
With malice,
For being a sty
In their engagement,
Like swimming underwater in the darkness,
Like posting in a dying board,
Appealing to an imaginary audience,
Being watched from outside, by no-one
(A song without a key)
He could not post to anybody.

The Chinofag left,
And coomed,
And howled,
And laughed,
At himself.
He felt he knew what that was.

The Chinofag woke up,
And looked at the night before.
He knew what he had to do.
He was responsible.
In the mirror,
He saw his friend.