I made an album out of confusion
I found a journey worth pursuing
in the rubble of it all, I found myself underneath it all
the stones and bricks, the hero within
to save me from this apocalypse
under the shimmering moon I grew
this is a rebirth, once in a blue moon

i am bone-tired and befogged with melancholia; i cannot wait to fall and bounce cheerlessly in a field of forlorn, arenaria flowers, all over the sunless forest floor. leave me be — a strange girl in a sleepy, run-down town. leave me be — a hopeless case in my own quiet apocalypse.

Learn to write again
learn to type right
first time in 3 decades of life

I want to write closer to when I think
speed time, to slow it
make it feel like I do more
like I was in my teens or early twenties
****, these days 3 go by and it feels like one

I count my blessings to build confidence
Life grows more cruel but
I might win if I act like already won
Chaos magick, nay we do not speak of it

You forgot to pretend
to suspend quests for rationality
No longer moved by a book or film
We conditioned to be unconditioned
only to realize we ought to been wistfully in the herd
the whole time  
We're the Bodhisattvas forestalling enlightenment
to get drunk with the butchers
after decades of sober high ground
We're the over-analyzers
lamenting our anachronisms in self-assuring
new philosophies
Either fully embrace one or drop out of being smart at all
the only tolerable choice to start to enjoy life again
No, no it's a false dichotomy
I want to be the eternal well-wisher
no matter the decadent displays

The shared dream of a soon to be future
We scavenge and defend
through pockmarked streets
make shelters amid crumbling concrete
We forgot how to imagine a secure society
Measured expectations and social safety nets
they took it all away along with our balanced serotonin
I used to get all jazzed up over a library book
but now the images promise us much more bliss
right around the corner

But it never soothes
never comes close  
We cannot buy the contentment you claimed to offer
so we'll get it in collapse
We'll be sniped, starved, and deranged
but the thought of that life
makes us whisper excitedly to ourselves
"finally something has happened to me."

I, the eternal well-wisher
will wag no more fingers at preachers of death
Neither will I become them nor pity them

I am the apocalypse,
Blood red sky that hangs over muddy water.
I am the fire that makes ashes
Out of endeavors to be more and better.
I am the poison in the well,
Taint that slithers beneath your skin.
They should've warned you
That the darkest things come in the nicest packages.
Do you dare to open mine?

all and everything burns around us
a wall of flames consuming the world
a personal hell projected into reality
a final reckoning for our collective sins
none are absolved not even the innocent
an angel’s dream the beginning of the end
overwhelmed wrung out by the quotidian
too tired to fight too tired to care
we lay down and wait our turn to die

Mundane celebrations to mask our ever closing demise
Working 9 to 5s, never fully enjoying our limited lives
Never knowing which day will be our last
So we choose to slave away for a world
That we will never fully experience
In the hopes our successors will enjoy the fruits of our labor
But inevitably enjoy the same propaganda pamphlets that their parents once read
And slave for a world, that their successors might enjoy
All the while, the reapers scythe sharpens.

the bombs went off
all chaos broke loose
just before the world exploded
she thought to herself
this is just how i thought it would be
what a dramatic way to die
what a perfect time to leave

cold arms around my warm neck
winsome whispered sweet nothings
my intuition keeping me correct
cunning foxes drinking from acid lakes
tainted soils and chaotic airwaves
the end is near
death is banging on the front door of many
claiming plenty spouses, friends, and family
the one percent flying to Mars while we watch Afghan's heart
be beaten and abused, cowed and ruined
Gaia is enraged and bursting into flames
sickness still inducing suffering with sundry strains
the end is near if they do not refrain
the end is near I am ashamed