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When the world ends, it will end in red.
No silky sheets, no silver bed,
No cancer to erase my head;
Just millions of memories dead.
It’s running ’til your knees give out.
It’s a painful and eternal shout –
Blood spewing from a water spout
While all the world is plunged in drought.
It’s a billion inpatient bands.
It’s poorly executed plans,
A hostage but without demands,
A moral death with shaking hands.
It’s holes in walls, dry waterfalls,
Two creeping hands in bathroom stalls,
My sister’s broken china dolls:
Choke nostalgia ’til she thralls.
And just like that, it’s red to black-
I’m empty after the attack.
I’ll live here as the memories crack,
Just wait for her to come right back.
I sit there and I ice the burn,
Ignore the nurse’s weak concern,
Worship the ashes in her urn,
And wait for her to soon return.