Blue Flames

Good morning.
And it ends and it goes and it goes
Without a phone call,
And without a touch,
We collide and are severed.
A thousand moths,
A million broken hearts,
The face on the tree,
Lift me up to strike me down
To where the eyes are snatched
And the tongues cut out.
Blood-covered spoons
And little frosting-coated words
Can keep a mouth fed
And leave a gut empty
When rope and bullets
Are hard to come by.
And my heart feels heavy
As I cough up the words
Of a small little girl
With a dagger in her mind.
The lightning overhead
Ignites the fuse of
My feebly standing lover,
As I blindly reach
For the key to the world.
The knowledge slithers up
From my fingertips.
Headlights and running feet
Carry me to the future,
As the mushroom cloud
Picks up the crumbs of
An innocent bystander
Who only waited for me.
And I
Could
Not
die.