Prairie Smoke

I would kill every iteration of myself from now to eternity

If it meant watching your lips move around the sound of my name.

I would take lightning straight to the chest and smile if I could just...

See what it would look like if the world went according to plan.

.

What sort of madness is it when I resort to pulling out pieces of myself

As though they are splinters, hindrances to my concept of a soul?

A madness of the heart, the plaguing sort of thing that haunts cemeteries

And clusters along church fences where it doesn't belong.

.

This existential loneliness is a disease that love can't cure and I'm dying.

The sun has set this field on fire, but the grass doesn't know it burns.

It simply opens its arms to the destruction and tastes the glory of smoke.

And I'm that way too, aren't I, waiting for one good strike of lightning.