Dream of apocalypse sex with apocalypse ex

A dream of you this morning
Three years on
Pressed against the wall
All filthy and tender
Open

We were never
Going to be anything like
The love of one another’s lives
Or grow old together
And that’s just fine

Because we both have known
That kind of love
Shakes you to your core
Pulls you out of your skin
To dance in your bones
The kind of love that
Will not let you settle for anything
Gets you fucking moving
And this, this just is.

An exercise in anything goes
An exercise in escaping emptiness
From one moment to the next
Running circular furrows in
All the same well tread paths
Until boots burn holes in our maps

In the afterglow
Beneath the flickering lights
Whisper your secret fears
Of the fire next time
Written into your genetic code
Whatever horror this world holds
You feel it coming for us
In your root of your soul

So here we are
All fucked up
Yet unbroken
Against the wall
In love and war
All at once now
For war
But never in love.

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Dream of apocalypse sex with apocalypse ex

February.

February so far:

Crushing, inexorable anxiety at the state of the world.
Warm rooms.
Writing poems, that I think are okay like:

Drawing a blank
In this long
And dark
American night
Waves of fear crash and roll
From shore to shore
Against the walls
That surround this sleepless and vulnerable Body

Turns out the flags aren’t as dead
At the tops of their poles
As we had hoped
Back when we were young
Now you get this sinking feeling
Deep in your bones
Cold as cold as cold

That the flags are glaring
Baring teeth, awake
And hungry for blood
Just like they were all along
Consuming the young and the old
The sick and the poor

Low men, with plunder in their eyes
Teeth like knives
Grinding down lives
Gazing from gilded towers
Satisfied with the reckoning
We have wrought
As all hell and war
Comes knocking on every door.

Trying to finish this fucking zine I started in November.
Casting remnants of toxic connections into the sound.
Giving thanks to the light stretching longer into the days.
Coldwave/Darkwave/New Wave
Torrid pre-apocalypse romances.
Making plans that involve long term survival.
Doing my best to use my creative energy in spite of the world, even when it feels completely futile.
Feeling safe in my skin, despite the world.
Thinking about how if it’s the end of the world, so much of these hard feelings aren’t worth holding onto.

February.