She and I would putter

across burnt rainbows.

The ash

and the greed

would fill our mouths

every time we kissed.

I swear we're looking

at the same gravestone now

but the name's we read

are different

and the comfort

of the casket's shelter

seems to decline

along with the memory

of the summer

when we were both alive

instead of a circus

tfw your angry shitpost gets the attention of actual poet

while ignoring the roses

from an exhausted third eye

as a rotted limbic system

tries to cope

with the past

it's been dealt,

the present

it tries to blind,

and the future

has tired me

to the point

of unalloyed indifference

so my body crumbles

on the interstate

and whether my life is splattered

across miles of gray

or I just become

a mild annoyance to passerby,

it doesn't matter to me

if the intestines from a nameless martyr

didn't wrap around my neck

before I had the chance to discover my voice

in the playground's lurch

You have one foot in high school

and another in your grave.

Which will bury you first?

I've defended you

in rooms that turned you away

while you shivered in the monsoon

but you've set the universe ablaze

and now that room

is all the remains.

Everyone else

is drinking to what never was

while I'm sad

for what could have been.

You've spent your life

writing manifestos

in what you claimed was ink

but the words have started to run

like the teardrops

of the wounds

to which you refuse to tend.

I wanted to dedicate

the world's lingering misanthropy

to you

but when I see you

jumping

into infinite landfills

while screaming "victim"

like a child yelling

"fire"

to feel love,

it would be akin

to dropping an atom bomb

on a village

just to get rid of