Breathless with anticipation,
finally I see the light —
–no that’s merely brain cells


Nothing lives and breathes
behind the glow that comes
at the end of the tunnel.
Nothing is there.

Nothing is waiting.

The illusion of our own spectacular joy
was precisely that —
only an illusion.
If there was a God,
He no longer wants us;
we’re the puppy
Mom would have to take care of,
if She existed,
because He’s lost interest.

Everything is red
and cold.


Don’t worry;
I’ve always been all talk.
The silence
will be refreshing.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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