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Sonnet for a Nihilist
A poem by Aimee Scanlon
This will likely end—illogical and ridiculous,
we’ve got ten years at best!
May as well get a dog, despite being smarter than this,
something to fill that cavernous pulse inside my chest.
Here I am in the ether,
standing—waiting. My heart a gasp
in my mouth, desperate to be eaten
in one clean slash
There’s no point to noticing
your wet eyelash, fat drops slow,
like crayon penned suns: thick then thin.
The sun will one day explode, you know.
It will end—the world, or us. Neither one missed.
But hopefully, I’ll beat you to it; leaving this for you, my little nihilist.
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