don't turn yourself into a bomb
buildings shattered into ashes
the motor wake and the sensational guilt
jittering fingers and itchy palms
that will refuse to feel again;
“your life is not your own.”
don't turn yourself into a bomb
all of them will grow out their hair
rooms going unclean for months
and the question will get passed about;
“why?” for you to you, forever
and everyone was so fond
imagining sawyer as a bomb
as he lurks in the ceiling tiles
peering into shattered ash
an explosive in the sky
an explosive in every home