ode to a burning home

we’ll say it’s clouded over

sweater weather come early

we will lift up the boxes of times long gone

and fall down the stairs

we will swim against the current

and gulp down the seawater

even if it scratches our throats

let the waves rock us back and forth

and dull the aching pain

dock slivers and rope

we will duct tape over the holes in the ceiling

and tell ourselves not to breathe in the smoke

as heat ripples off the highway

and the mirage will whisper promises of caramel and hope

so we’ll kiss and watch the sunset

and i’ll get used to it, slowly

’cause it only gets worse from here on out

cause help has been on its way for years now

cause i am gasping and out of breath

gasoline and bloodshed dripping down my nose

i am bitter and prideful

united in my hatred and alone in my fury

i’m not ready

to go to bed

so please don’t turn off the lights already

So, as I write this it’s the start of wildfire season, which is always really depressing–and to just add to the fun, we’re having another heatwave, and I was feeling contemplative and very ominous and dramatic. It’s been one of those days, I guess. I don’t mean to be, like, too nihilistic or depressing–but I don’t know, to be honest, it’s hard not to feel that way most days.