goodbye

wilted flowers beside me on the peeling white paint
resting in a puddle of tears and blood
and bad poetry bearing your name
karma and fate gouged crudely into my arm
scintillating epiphany and maybe i can move on
i'm dying on this front porch
this mass grave for countless insects
crushed mercilessly under my steel-toes
a century of shoes and bugs
and i'd like to be one of them right now
inconcequencial
pouring liquor on them til they drown
and wishing it was me in their stead
because i can't keep drinking this away
it would be so easy to slip beneath the surface
a pinpoint of light where the sun used to be
i taste like smoke and iron
ash drops like so many grey snowflakes
and the sizzle as i touch the burning filter
to my seeping forearm is strangely comforting
i can't make myself walk away from this