Burn the World

It is 12:15 a.m. on a Saturday, and my hair looks too good
to sleep alone tonight.

But I got drunk off that stupid joy,
and lady? I can't stand up straight no more.

Don't bother searching for my network, you can find me
underground. This is where/how I will live now. 'Cos

the light can't get us here, but the cold
sure will. I'll invite it in, make a home for it

like I did for you.

We were too full though, I see that now. We had no room left
for the things that should matter.

I see that now.

There was a time when it was bright, and I thought about buying new sunglasses
but I kept the ones I had because I was wearing them when I met you during the storm
when Ian and I went for beer and they almost got taken away with the wind, almost
got knocked off my face, but I kept them on, and you read me Whitman, and I wanted
to tell you how important I thought you'd be to my life, that I had never met anyone
that looked like you, that had your voice or history, but I didn't tell you that then.

I won't tell you that now.

There was a time when it was warm, and it was only one day, but in that day
I was thankful for the fullness and I was taking sips of you, taking swigs of stupid
joy, and I was feeling sublime and you were feeling like you never had before.
You have a brain, you said, and I laughed and said "I do". You have passion,
you said, and I nodded and said "I hope so". You're something rare, you said,
and I wanted to write you a novel, or maybe just a love letter for when you woke.

Now is not the time for overdramatics.
Now is the time to burn the world.

I'll puke on the flames if I want to feel warm again.