Six months remain until the world’s end,
Which means there is no time to play games here.
There are feelings to eat and rules to bend
While people run out to buy Pop-Tarts and beer.
I’d head to the beach to enjoy the sun.
Pants would be banned ‘cause my ass would be tanned
And sitting next to a certain someone
While our entwined fingers graze the sand.
Before our incendiary ending,
I’d sing every song that played in my heart,
Without doubt, fear or judgment ascending
In my throat to stifle the shaky start.
I’d stop making jokes to mask how I feel
Because regret shouldn’t be my last meal.