Never My Last Words

The boy who lived

downstairs inhaling chemicals

was equivalent to the time

you left the popcorn in too long.

Thus this memory is

mixed into my poetry

on a diary page.

As the only proof I existed.

Normally I just wait

for my turn to talk,

instead I'll fill all my pockets

with the long-lasting damage.

I don't know if I can change the world.

Hell, I don't know that much about it.

Keep in mind these aren't

the last words I"ll share.