Stars that aren’t stars are screaming in the shadows and I hate them.
Colors bleeding like death fall to the ground and disappear but it’s not the end yet. More are falling soon.
A woman wept in her driveway.
She was a poet.
Her tears rhymed as they fell
to the ground.
She danced alone,
sadly and lostly.
Looking at her from my back porch, I realized a truth. She had reminded me madly that a coffin might make a comfortable bed tonight.
But would it? Maybe they wouldn’t give me socks. I want socks when I coffinate.
Would it matter? Socks? Why spend extra time warming feet? They’ll be cold forever anyway.
Why build an illusion? I don’t know why.
They don’t know why.
They just do it.
They fill the caskets.
Formaldehyde and socks.
Unless they forget.
I think deeply now. My feet are cold and I don’t have socks. I need to say goodbye.
-Goodbye-
It’s true, she made me want to die.
But instead I try to not.
I try to not goodbye.
