I hate it all so much.
This hatred burns and scalds my skin
from the outside in and rips away flesh
like picking rotted flowers from my bones.

My clothes
are no longer here.
They left ashes in their place
a slow wake of fire dust
encircles me
like its digging out a tomb.

I hear the cackling of the
sturdy floorboards beneath
my feet begin to snap.

I hear the laughter breaking free
from the splinters and feel the spike
of their railroad pike skin pierce me
ripping away failing flesh
like train cars
until I am just cooked bone and hate
and spilled muscle.

My blood begins to soak into the oak
of the earth’s soil.
I hear it boil.
It funnels down through dirt like drain-o.
I peer into the hole like an open casket.
I see the soul of the planet so like me.
All cooked bone and boiled blood.
All rotted flower and liquid muscle.
It coalesces into an ocean of metal magma.

It looks like it knows how to hate like me.
The wakes wave like an invitation.
I feel the gravity of my skeletal frame
pull back into an arched bow
and let go.
I fall like an arrow on fire.
My cooked bone crashes into an alloy ocean
and shatters like fine china
I am fire dust in the form of crashed skeleton
and rotten flower.
I fuse into this lake of burning wakes
until the flames of our hate
soak into a bonfire of failed flesh and metal

I am home here
There is no armament of wood and laughter
There is only hate, blood, bone, metal, and rotted flower

It looks like heaven.