If death were as simple as a Dominos easy button,
I'd be stripping down for the delivery boy.

It is hot and quiet.
Mountains of chocolate wrappers surround me,
every bit as empty as I am filled with failure.

I am thirty-six years missing an idea,
fifty pounds of destructive attempts to make sense of it,
five hundred sixteen heartbroken poem disasters,
and a longing for love that drives everyone to the opposite end of the universe.

At light speed.

You'll be gone eventually too.
I'll cry,
but I won't feel anything.