Poem 2
The birds used to sing
Before my home was filled with lava
It bubbles from the ground
Swallowing everything in its path
Destruction around every corner
My bed is eaten, the wood crackling
Not even the weight of a thousand tears can stave the flame
I melt melt melt down into the ground
Too weak to save myself
Too selfish to leave my world behind
The puddle that was once my hands
The mangled mess of my madness
Heaviness beyond what’s mine weighing me down
Bolting me to the melting rock floors
My ears are the last to fail
Listening for how the birds used to sing
God, does the world sound like that anymore?
I can’t seem to remember