My words come in fi-
ves, of bunches like flowers that remi-
nd me of funerals, I
haven't been to many.
If death do us apart, then what about the afterli-
fe? What if then I
am still deeply in love, would I then cry?
Ponds of tears,
Faces the sky
A reflection of the bri-
ghtness of a tungsten li-
ghtbulb waiting to blow a fuse.
Overpower your enemies but be ki-
nd. Your complex mi-
nd, free and wi-
ld, like global warming on our melting glaciers.
The rising sea levels or my
rising exasperation that our lie-
s to ourselves create a facade of ignorance that we are unable to fi-
ght, and so we bask in our ignorance,
Like we are in sunli-
ght. We are charred but we seem to by-
pass, a purge induced by
the atrocity that is me and you.