The End of the World

Issue 3 | Summer 2019 |



It begins with a splinter of some kind,
a bunch of old men sitting in a circle deciding which laws to bend first.
It sounds like crunching, a wood chipper eating itself.
Outside it always looks like it’s going to rain and that the rain is going to burn.
If only you could’ve seen this coming,
taken matters into your own hands.
You tried, I remember—climbed a secluded mountain to pray,
hit your phone with a rock, put crystals all over your body,
and when that didn’t work, you gave up.
I am sorry for all those I have failed. The trees are limp and the old gods dead.
There is no punishment for people unloading guns into one another.
No turning back, just turning from.