The Inner Beauty of Ambiguity

I’ve shook hands
with the end of the world multiple times

like the salt in the wound of
it’s nice to meet you
from the mouth of someone who’s not new

it’s a truly devastating pleasure
to make issues when there aren’t any in order
and to feel the static so frequently
that it’s no longer shocking

but I hope my skin never gets thicker
and the steady streams fill my voids
contingent on the slightest blues
running them dry

I fear no longer fearing fear itself
and a time in which I no longer care
if the end of the world remembers my face
or if I even care to visit her at all