the earth was spinning
down into sunset
and I put on—welcome to the black
parade. you said
you knew it maybe, you
hummed to the chorus, to the
rise and fall of one thousand
suicides, one thousand children
deciding—not tonight.
we are the same people, we are split
into different bodies. I could tell
you the dark things
but I don’t think
I need to. you have the haunted
look in your eyes, you are proof
that tragedy is not always
good. we are too young to be artists—
we are fading like small
fires into the night, the people we
were and are—
they are congregating, saying wait
one more night: you managed hell
with colored pencils, with internet
blogs. you deserve
to be teenagers,
riding in fast cars going—somewhere,
the purpose dim
but very certain.
the last pavilion 