I love you
is only a darkened whisper
between two souls intertwined,
until one leaves.
In the end, it’s
Just a false alarm.

I’m pregnant
is the resounding silence of a
shattered relationship where
commitment was only a curfew.
Turns out to be
Just another false alarm.

I do
is the pristine moment when the world
dissolves around two hearts alone.
Yet, doubt was on the guest list.
Now what? It was
Just another false alarm.

It’s going to be okay
is the mantra of this generation where
hedonistic lives thrive under bridges,
in the bushes, on the tram, behind the door.
So really, it’s all
Just another false alarm.

I’m ready to die*
is the cry not of children, but of the aged,
whose tokens have been spent on the lottery
life advertises at bingo games.
Despite their withered wisdom, in the end, it’s
Just another false alarm.