let us imagine that we are imaginary.

of you, i ask two things:
that you do not cry for me.
that my name will not be unspoken.

they have always lied.
heaven is home to demons in disguise.

in hell, at least,
they do not hide their misbeings.

i miss you like
the sun to the earth

i think your light forgot me
somewhere past mercury

and that's okay -
if you get too close
i'll burn

sometimes i lie awake
picturing how a gun would feel
pressed above my ear

and i think it would be cold
and sharp-edged
and empty

but in imagining i
never.
feel.
scared.

index finger of dominant hand
point upright
let finger rotate from wrist
flick across the tip of nose
close to touching skin
let your wrist fall into the movement
quick motion, don't hesitate
like you have something on your fingertip
and you're throwing it aside -
you want it over and done with

*liar

we write poems about broken gods
to see falls in perspective.

we look at atlas' burden
and say it could be worse.
we look at pele's destruction
and say we do not burn worlds.

we write poems about broken gods.
in comparison, our failures are insignificant.