Salient

The end of the world is upon me
not of some virus or plague that sweeps humanity from its perch
not in some global conflict of chaos and nuclear terror
but wrapped in love and blue eyes and soft-spoke devotion

The end of the world is personal and private
not some broad sweeping broom for all to partake
not the end for you or you or you or you
an intimate ending wrapped in memories of pale skin and soft kisses

The end of the world is exquisite agony
not some firefight in foreign fields
not a heroic stand against injustice and malice
but a return to bad choices and desperation spiked fixes

The end of the world is the battle lost
not a victory or triumphant song, no glory or honour
not the march of ascendancy or acquittal
but final surrender to love’s cruel cold heart

The end of the world is transacted in alleyways and parking lots
with small bills and plastic wrapped twists
and reminiscence of tenderness and soft sweet desire
now charred foil and the vinegar scent of incipient doom

The end of the world can be found in the empty bottle
once liquid or pills, a grasping effort to find absolution
or an ultimate escape from tyrannical reminders of delectable delight
a capitulation of self to the barbarism of benevolence

The end of the world can be seen in my eyes
blank hazel staring seeking her bluest affection
no laughter or compassion in evidence of life
but a plea for the end of the world

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