If 1 in every 100 midnight poems,
Wasn’t riddled with comedy?
My scathing smarm & sass?
I’d’ve been lost to The Void,
Centuries ago.
Death by my own hand.
Only way I truly want to go.
My Right.
My Privilege.
So I need to draw laughter,
From the dark ashes within.
Using charcoal to write my jokes.
1 in every 100 midnight poems
