maybe it’s destruction aesthetics but
i can’t help myself.
there’s just something beautiful in the way that all walls fall down or
get knocked over when we don’t need the shelter anymore.
how all rooms change color with the shifting of the scenery and
absolutely nothing ever stays the same it was.
the snow melts. the smoke dissolves. the sun dances only to drown into a landscape that never stops shooting upward. and whole mountains break and topple like warriors as the surface of the world sinks into the ocean. but
listen: i walked past your house last night.
just to look inside and see how things had changed.
just to see if i’d be angry at the way they’d torn that wall down or
how they’d covered our footsteps with carpet and
made everything a brand new color.
just to see if there was something pretty in the wreckage. something shining like the truth we built from old wounds when we looked back on our scars and said, “I’m okay now.”
just to see if i was still alive in some way in some form that lit the world around me on fire and pushed our impermanence out of the window of a building a thousand storys high.
just so i could look back on now and on yesterday and on every single day since you left and say,
“I’m okay now.”
but i didn’t feel a thing.
i just lit another cigarette and tipped my hat to the mighty trees
knowing one day they’d fall apart like everything else
and i can just blame it all on the shifting of the scenery.
watching life dance and drown like the stars and let the roman mountains sink softly, violently
back into the earth that birthed them.
because lately,
everythings a cigarette. just lit one moment
to never stop burning until somebody sometime decides to throw it down or just let it burn until there’s nothing left to eat.
and it just gives in.
and i’m just giving in.
because when you’ve got so much riding on one thing and one day for no reason something or someone or nothing at all decides you can’t have that one thing anymore and rips it away without warning or justification
you don’t have a thing to fall back on.
all you can do is tip your hat to the trees, paint the walls you haven’t torn down yet, push your cigarette back into the earth and say,
