Poems for the End of the World

by Katie Wismer

he used to kiss my ankles and I don’t know why I liked that so much now I drink wine almost every night just to cope with being alive I can’t picture myself ten years from now and worry that’s some sort of premonition I debate if making my art is worth it if its fleeting impact is enough to matter but I don’t know how to do anything else I don’t know how to be anything else I don’t want anything else

First poem and it hits hard!