we'd never get to be happy.
that's it. that's the fucking poem.
we would never be allowed a happy ending.
there would always be an obstacle.
a problem.
a mountain about to burst into flames.
it'd never work out.
we're bound to burn and burst
into a thousand pieces.
gods, i wish i could leave you
before the comets reach us.
but i'll live in ash.
i'll leave in dust and brimstone
and curse and disgrace and
longing.
i'll look for you,
beneath rubble and misery and
sorrow, with handfuls of
longing.
would you look for me?
