One For the Mercy Kill

mercy kill art

We’re the kids our parents warned us about becoming

We exist in the spaces between words and each breath we take is another footnote to explain why we act this way.

 

Sometimes the small things are just small things.

 

When cars break down the passengers get to spend more time together

When the passengers break down,

Someone ends up walking home

 

 

And it’s usually me.

 

 

Golden hour in the back lot of a church has never felt more aluminum

The tufts that the Cottonwoods shed feel the air more than we do and float upon it.  

 

When I cough, I tell you it’s allergies so that you don’t know I’m smoking again

The nicotine is turning my lungs to dirt

maybe dandelions will sprout

And you can wish on them through my trachea

And I can choke on your desires

Again.

 

Suicide is a form of mercy killing.

 

 

You told me that my arm looks like notebook paper

For you to write your grocery list on

Or spit your gum into

Or jot down a quick goodbye–

 

Every goodbye seems so quick.

Every goodbye seems permanent.

Every goodbye seems to come from you.

 

We are not the children of the Almighty like we were told.

We are not the children of a higher power;

 

 

And if we are,

We’ve been orphaned our whole lives.

 

The only problem with killing God is giving Him a proper burial.

 

-P.J.

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