He Met Three Times An Apocalypse, and then Wept.

the first apocalypse might have
destroyed the stars, but instead
filled his vision of innocence
with dread, where time was
naked, wearing only its increments,
and thousands of tomorrows went on.

the second apocalypse had few
words and now a song,
taking away the wholeness,
and calling minuscule heartbeats
the soul. the potential remaining
might have killed, might have loved-

but the third apocalypse was different,
unkind, and swiftly destroyed his freedom
by cancelling two revelations' joy. and
loose now, reassembly crept with footsteps
inching to inflict upon him
a fate lacking death.

He met three times an apocalypse,
and then wept.

in just life,
when fuckups are common,
with whomever can't be unmade
when emotions rise, alcohol flows,
and
in justlife,
when fuckups are common,
and it doesn't matter who got laid,
when who rides, someone's heart cries,
and the question written in sweet sweat is only - who knows?
and yet somewhere, hearts fade,
and
injust life,
sometimes, hope dies
but what is there to say?
injustlife,
when fuckups are common.

Memory *unfinished*

Sometimes,
I like to follow fate’s path with my fingers
as my tongue tickle traces the triangle
that brought meyouinside,
where we linger
sometimes, as untwo.