One Hundred and Sixteenth Entry

I'm a seething cauldron of angst today, but I did buy a new DVD yesterday.

Here's my poem:

RAZOR

Ran out of glue; it just kept dripping
down by my smile while I inflated my bed.
Together we superheroes can make a stand
for true justice, I've outlined on this map
your faces, not much of a likeness, but
it's clear who is who. You're mine when you
bend your fats across my barbecue.
I bought the inspirational synths on your first
soundtrack, and I ran with them, neon jogging
gear ablaze. Clipless clipboard, stuff
in my fingernails, some music farting out
of a boombox, exiting someone's apartment
and entering mine. While it's still my apartment.