I was born in a mosh pit.
Hallucinating before I walked.
Aware of the strangeness.
Stayed up nights realizing I’d perish.
Now I’m destroying myself happily.
A dimming fireball.
Churning through air in defiance.

You dangled like a sharp knife on the edge of a tall table
primed to damage city blocks.
Upon meeting, you dropped handle first onto carpet.
Our love bloomed, then you were gone like an exploding rocket.
Scared to connect.
I remain, not quite burnt out
waiting patiently to touch you like you’ve never been touched.
To make our lives feel like some foreign film.

Wilson Koeing is a writer from South Carolina. His work is forthcoming in Fiction on the Web, Bull: Men’s Fiction and Gargoyle.