When IT happens.

I twirl in the forest, the birds sounding sweeter than they did yesterday.

The ocean breeze is soft and warm.

My bedsheets are dryer fresh waiting for me to crawl in.

My belly is warm from so much slow-cooked soup, cheeks flushed after spiced rum and cola.

I rejoice in the fucking suffering. Praise whatever god or goddess is willing to hear my voice, high pitched and rapid, the way it gets when I overflow with excitement.

I smile to myself in the mirror and study the visible joy on my face. Crow’s feet, big teeth, crinkled nose, tears welling up in the corners of my eyes.

Karma comes for those who deserve it most.

Monsters never win.

We’d dance and piss on his grave, kiss in the streets.

We’d make toasts to a better tomorrow.

It’s coming.