Before the bombs hit

Illumination

hot and silent as the afterlife

they’re fairy dust, flecks of light

and golden aura

Body becomes lead balloons

thick in the throat, head catches up

between the veil and soon

to grave

As I die

there are crisp packets between my fists

melting, I’m so jealous of them

So angry of the plastic

Inanimate objects

that will leave more evidence

of a human existence

than I will