No Need for Poetry!

Eruption
On reading fanfiction and hearing fireworks

Someone's always trying to claim someone else. These declarations end with a slap and a little bit of blood on the mouth. This is how we beg for eternity, in chaining someone to us with a tooth or a nail. The moon is too full; it's going to overflow.
What better place, though, for the whitest of our fears to shine brightest once a month? If that tiny little door, the flimsy little membrane were to break in everyone, we might rend each other into little star-shaped pieces to hold on to and scatter from the balcony scenes. Would you join the fray if it were playing on your street? Could I ignore the bruises and the shards of glass under my feet? If we all go into heat, and set fires in the bonsai shrubs with the radiation from out skin, the city would erupt into desert, and the sun would be always setting. The moon is too full; it is spilling out milk.