Ignorance is a dagger
you hold it by the blade,
fist clenched tight as blood
slicks down the handle,
dripping into the cracks
of the world you pretend
isn’t falling apart.

You swallow gasoline,
call it holy water,
strike a match,
singe your own lips shut,
grinning through the scorch
and the world burns around you,
a blaze you call sunset,
a pyre you call progress.

You watch the news like a corpse,
pupils blown wide and empty,
each headline a sledgehammer
to the skull
babies pulled from rubble,
flesh peeled from bone,
another name in the gutter,
another bullet in the throat.

But you call it static,
call it fiction,
call it someone else’s problem.

You wear your apathy
like a bulletproof vest,
strap it tight to your chest,
let each scream ricochet off
like hail against glass
bang, bang, bang,
and you don’t even flinch.

You chew the bones of the dead
like they’re communion wafers,
a sacrament of silence,
the taste of charred skin
crunching between your teeth.

You **** the marrow clean,
spit it in the dirt,
stamp it underfoot
like a cigarette ****,
watch the ash spiral away
a life, a life, a life
you never knew.

You pull the blinds down
so hard they snap,
shards of plastic raining down
like shattered teeth,
but you don’t bleed,
you don’t blink
you just turn up the volume,
let the sirens scream your lullaby
as the house burns down.

Ignorance is a choice,
a noose you tie yourself,
slip your head through the loop,
kick the chair back,
and call it flying.