If the world falls apart, and things collapse like a house of cards, I want you to come round and see out the final few hours with me. Let’s open a bottle of wine, smoke a few cigarettes, and sit around chewing the fat in anticipation of the end. I don’t want to save the world, and I don’t want to be your superhero. Leave that shit to the movies. If truth be told, all I want is to wash your hair and breathe in the scent of your flesh as cities burn on the horizon and all the trees that were once breathing breathe no more. To think of the drunken laughs we can share just imagining the final moments of those we hate. To picture the looks on all their faces when they realise that this is it- that there’s no going back, and all that they worship can’t save them from meeting their ungodly unmaker. From dreaming of comets crashing into the Earth as a teenager to picturing nuclear war ravaging the globe on my lunch break at work, the end has always been my beginning. From every fuck to each drunken relapse. From word to word and page to page- my desire has been to catch a glimpse of oblivion. No. Not just a glimpse, I’ve wanted to swallow it whole; to open my arms and embrace it like a father does to his child. If you be my lover, you can be my mother, and maybe whore as well, if the feeling takes you. If you stick around until the final seconds, I’ll give you the best of me while nature takes the rest. To surrender and give in only to be spat out and reborn in the darkness others do their best to deny- this is true love. Come now, girl, and take my hand so we may travel to a place not yet tread. Come round, and lay your head in my lap and place your fingers in mine. No words, no acts. Just beauty and the betrayal of modernity. I want only emotion. I speak only truths. Be the same, and I’ll put you in a picture. See me smile, and taste my kiss as the skies flame with passion and we say hello to that which has remained hidden our entire lives.