Dreaming up the ways that I might die,
I never would have imagined; I never would have guessed—
that I would ever be so lucky
to watch played out, the end of the world.
My death not by suicide; Not by allergic reaction;
Not by anonymous stabbing in the street.
Not by the car wreck, the plane wreck,
or falling from a balcony drunk off my feet.
My death, like so many others,
witness to the end of the world.
There is no comfort that others will go on—
because as I slip under, like so many others,
we all know— we all share the same final words.
“Shit. This was it. For all of us.”
Everyone has taken this end
there will be no tomorrow, not just for us,
but for anyone with consciousness.
And the religious huddled in churches, temples, and mountain tops—
they will all lose faith by their one last struggle for breath
and know their lives were spent in denial of this undeniable fact;
That even at the end of the world,
we all die alone. Nobody saved us. Not even ourselves.
Each and every one of us, as we all watch the water we drink rise,
as we all watch the air we breathe burn,
as we all play witness,
play voiceless, speechless, sightless,
not able to record or report to any others that we have met our end;
And nobody saved us. Not even ourselves.
So enjoy the little boy kicking the back of your seat on this airplane ride.
He’s going to die without ever reaching the seventh grade.