Work Text:
End of the world.
There is an irony
to dancing in fire at the end of the world,
to smile as we all meet our collective demise,
to loving as we are leaving,
to hoping but knowing it is too late; as if it is our rebellion,
to the burnt child walking into the fire,
to smiling because there are no tears left to cry,
to close our eyes as we have accepted it,
to knowing the smoke will not end and the dust will not settle and crying tears of joy.
There is a beauty
in rebelling in our joy,
in making our moments count,
in remembering because no one else will,
in making art that none may see,
in grinning as our world burns down,
in laughing as we asphyxiate,
in watching the clock stay at the 13th hour; knowing it is far too late but beam in spite,
in the euphoria while everything is ablaze
and in dancing in fire at the end of the world.