ode to armageddon

so i’m sitting in the corner, scrolling through my phone / and listening to this middle aged man at the hardware store / argue with his wife in whispered tones / about screwdrivers and carpet / and he’s calling her a bitch / but we all know they’ll stay together / steep in the silt of their misery / i don’t think it’s a good sign that i relate to them already / a little bit / ’cause their world is ending / a tylenol fever burrowing through tough skin / and i doubt they’ll notice when the lights cut out / but i will / as i sink into my pillow like surrender / on the nights when i can’t sleep / because maybe they were once in love / maybe they had hopes and dreams / but now they’re sunburnt and old / with a bitter tinge on their lips / so my dear armageddon / take me slowly / kiss my eyelids closed / and i will try not to scream out / as smoke fills my bedroom / and the skyscrapers crumble down / because i don’t think the world needs another tragedy a / life cut short or / product of circumstance / and god, i hope they’re happy / some day far, far away / i hope they split up / and find new love / and he starts a coffeeshop / she moves to the city / i hope all their dreams come true / i hope it’s not too late to change / and grow / and get our shit together / i hope, i hope, i hope


I’ve been thinking about the end of the world a lot of late. I think a lot of people are–maybe it’s yellow car syndrome, where you just see what you’re looking for, but lately it seems like so many people have been putting out songs about the end of the world, or making books and TV shows about the apocalypse. And again, this is almost certainly my spin on things, because perception is really subjective, but they don’t really feel like tragedies anymore. Like the end of the world is something so many of us are starting to accept as a grim possibility, and something we’ll just have to live with. This world with record-breaking heatwaves and oceans on fire and a million other tragedies and injustices. Like most of us are just at a loss for what to do, other than posting about it online and signing petitions. It’s comforting, to romanticize it–play it out in your mind. Honestly, sometimes it’s the only thing that gets me through the day, even if it’s mostly a load of rubbish. (Yes I am most definitely projecting here, what of it.)

I just think it’s interesting, and I tried to capture that in this poem.

Lots of love,

Lorna