After Being Shot At And Chased By Killer Robots on the 99th Day Of The Machine Apocalypse

Lyrics

after the Terminator franchise I tried to write you a love poem. I dialed in the secret number combinations to all of the dreams you never shared with anyone but me. Opened them up, tried to re-assemble them in your eyes. It didn't work. I tried to steal the sunlight from the skyline and illuminate your face. It didn't work. I wanted to remind you of who you were before all this. None of it worked. The day that I met you, I got carried away and imagined our life together: children, a dog, a home and an always burning barbecue out back. But maybe apocalypse is the last beautiful thing we have left. Maybe to have loved is to have stood back to back in a gunfight against death machines with all of our weapons tearing through steel. Maybe it's to have wrenched bullets out of your lover's limbs, to wrap their wounds in gauze. Maybe to have loved is to have watched nuclear bombs kaleidoscope an entire city into pieces of gravel and glass and dust. Because what is love, if not extraordinary—explosions of heat and flesh and heat and flesh and heat and flesh. The machines would explain this as a series of chemical reactions conducting the speed of our heartbeats—but I was never good at science, and you were never the type to believe everything you read in textbooks. If we never make it to safety, if the satellites pinpoint our location and send in the cyborg cavalry before we have time to map out our escape, don't be frightened. We'll hold the scopes of our guns up to our eyes like children peering through spyglasses. We can enjoy the view of the fire.