The Beginning of All Things

I would be lying if I said that some part of me
doesn't miss endless summer.
I would be lying if I said that some part of me
isn't always on the way out.
Mark my words
because
this is now a dangerous game that I play.

My interest in all general things
has waned
and what keeps me going
is and always has been
that unwavering need
to forever seek out new.
Stagnation is the period at the end
of every creative sentence.
The fin of all things.

It is here that I learn that
while I am not happy alone
I am more pressingly contented.
Yes, I have dreams and imaginative lies
to tell myself,
but I also have my coffee and my cigarettes
and deep in my lungs
a tomb to keep my mouth from telling the truth.
There are so many things
that I'm looking forward to taking
to an early grave.

When you ask me what I want to see,
guarantee you'll hear me say,
"The Zombie Apocalypse,"
and
"The Financial Collapse,"
just to see those bastards to be the first
with their backs against the wall
when the revolution comes.
Press hard and I'll let out that
I secretly do want to see
the heat death of the universe
(hit up Wikipedia if you need to. No shame).

And while all these things are completely true -
I dearly want to witness them all and
I'm pretty sure I could make it through the zombie apocalypse
(and not in that I'm-a-badass-sense,
but quite seriously) -
they are just my ever growing
misanthropic self talking.
That, however, does not mean
that I'm not completely for them.
I've grown quite sick of
humanity as a whole and
maybe I've just gotten sick of,
well,
everything.
I want to believe in world peace
like I want to believe in some god;
That'd be cool, but only a child thinks
they could be true.
I know who
I want
to save
in the zombie apocalypse.

And that - that right there -
is my to-the-grave.
My back against the wall.
My coup de grâce.
The one thing I do want.
But I've been there
and it is gone
and my heart has become
the stone and dust and ash
that it is made of.
These days beating
more out of habit
than necessity.

I think back to all those
end-of-society stories
and in all of them there is a common
glimmer of hope
that drives the characters.
Well, I've made it to the promised land
and I know it is nothing but a waste.
So, what now?

Whatever.
Loneliness is entirely underrated
anyway.

Bring on the rapture.
I'm looking forward to looting.