Not so long
from now;

You would have
conversations  that
would shake the world.

We can't afford to
Trump that.

I do not like how our world is.
I don’t like there are people who
have to die for their child to live.
I don’t like that we forget to
view others with complexity.
I don’t like that we have to fight a
fight that started long before we
were born, and should have never
started in the first place.

I do not like how our world is.
And I do not like how it’s headed.
I am not a perfect person.
I’ve been ignorant.
I’ve made mistakes.
But I have always tried
to do the right thing.

This is not the right thing.
How am I supposed to put
one foot in front of the other,
when I’m walking into a trap?

I do not like how our world is.
I do not like how it’s headed,
And I don’t see the light at
the end of the tunnel.
I feel that the mountain
I'm under, is about to implode.

I don’t want this train to stop
before I even learn where it’s headed.
And I am so scared for my
journey to end.
But what’s scarier, is the journey
up ahead:
one I never signed on to,
and have no way to stop.

Dear Mr. Sunshine,
“When will dad be home to sing me a lullaby again?”
Those words
are stapled to the back of my head every waking day by our daughter
whose pouty lips tremble as she kisses your picture
then slowly looks up at me,
“soon.”
What else am I to say
when I ask myself the same **** question
every day, every night
and every year.
Then the sirens sing,
and we hide under a small table
as a group of men search for explosives,
gunshots echo through the shack and numb my ears
a small girl from across the room coughs up tomato soup
and is instantly tossed out onto the cold streets
of the October blue

Dear Mr. Sunshine,
It is now the end of December
and instead of snow wrapped around our little town like a blanket
there is chilled blue flames
that leave children screaming
screaming at the fire for taking their family.

Dear Mr. Sunshine,
It has been months since you wrote back
and years since I have seen you.
Now it’s March and sky is flooded with silver waste
and as I looked up from my balcony
the door began to ring,
I ran to the door
and saw your bright blue face,
with your soft pale eyes
but your soul wasn’t you
your mind had been replaced by the war.
And as I opened my ears to speak
I saw the knife in your hands and as you whispered
“I love you”
the light that was you
went through the sharp jagged edges
and sank into my heart,
sunshine took over my lungs
and darkness sunk behind my eyes
Dear Mr. Sunshine,
where are you?

“Here’s your morning PSA,
Laced with saccharine and anaesthetic,
Unfortunately the missiles are on their way,
So leave the sick and try not to panic,
Ignore the hysteria, and those calling your name,
Avert your eyes as the world sets aflame,
We apologise for keeping this from you,
Secret for all of these years,
But please keep in mind, though we’ll aim for your rescue,
Death is the least of your fears
This will be our last transition,
I’m afraid the president must catch his flight,
You may wait to hear from us but until then,
Goodbye, goodluck and goodnight.”

We were the PVC plastic barbie dolls,
Waiting to be burned alive,
Unlucky enough to live,
We woke up to an absence of we,
No Nevada left to test in,
So I’m a model mannequin,
Melt me down,

Tick-Tick-Tick,
The light was white and empty,
Tick-Tick-Tick,
My madness steeped in silence
Tick-Tick-Tickety,
Geiger is telling me to run,
Tickety-Tickety-Tickety,
But it’s no use now,

I threw up on Monday,
Tuesday, I choke back fallout,
Ignore the bubbles when it hits my skin,
On Wednesday, my gums blink bright red,
Thursday I know I am all alone because the wind has ceased to blow,
And Friday I realise I am not,

They came with rubber masks,
Silicone,
Respirators and coils of filters,
We both had ******* eyes,
But neither of us saw people reflected in them,
I counted three,
Alpha, Beta, Gamma,
One smiles by exhaling clean air,
Reaches out a hand across the barren wasteland,
Fingers tipped with lead and tells me:
“There’s a prize for the last standing.”

I am not ionised,
So I bruise every time they touch me,
These guides through plagues of acid rain,
The graveyard of monuments stripped bare by a world of rot,
My hair falls out as I breathe dead air,
I don’t remember what PSA stands for,
I don’t remember my name,
I bleed sand and the echo of a failed civilisation,
But with heavy breathing and a muffled voice,
Gas masks filtering what used to keep me alive,
I wonder if there is anything behind those masks at all,
I know there is nothing behind mine,
None of us are human anymore,
And we haven’t been for quite some time,

Together, we watch the sky rain black ash.