Lame poem

Our world is burning.

The only light we have inside

is the light of destruction of our fantasies,

the only reality I ever want to know again.

The only world in which I could be sexy

and you could be pure.

The only world in which the both of us were three-dimensional

and wanted,

but you won't come to the window now

to see it.

 

Stop-

the spinning flames can only shred us once,

can only hurt you, save me, once

and then it shall not be over.

The world I feared, the worst you loved

will never see the light of day-and yet-

it's troubling to wonder,

when death becomes a fairy-tale

what happens to the not-lovers

who used it to survive?

 

Look here, look here my darling.

Inhale, inhale my love.

This lonely oxygen may well be our last-

and I'll never again write love, poorly concealed rape,

in angsty poeticism.

 

Our world is ash my love,

dust.

I hustle through and wonder,

how still can I affect you, to save a child's life?

How then do you continue to break my heart

with every moment

your presence does not fill?