Sonnet for a Nihilist

A poem by Aimee Scanlon

This will likely end—illogical and ridiculous,

we’ve got ten years at best!

May as well get a dog, despite being smarter than this,

something to fill that cavernous pulse inside my chest.

Here I am in the ether,

standing—waiting. My heart a gasp

in my mouth, desperate to be eaten

in one clean slash

There’s no point to noticing

your wet eyelash, fat drops slow,

like crayon penned suns: thick then thin.

The sun will one day explode, you know.

It will end—the world, or us. Neither one missed.

But hopefully, I’ll beat you to it; leaving this for you, my little nihilist.