High on Collapse

The oceans are choking on plastic. Cities roast on asphalt grills. Politicians sell us fear in bulk, two-for-one.
And me?
I’m still grinning. Joint crooked in my mouth. Teeth yellow from coffee, lips cracked from laughing too hard at the apocalypse.

Everyone’s panicking like it matters. Like this flaming carnival ride has brakes.
But look—my friends are here, barefoot, cross-legged, howling at the collapse. Like hyenas with student debt. Like monks who worship smoke.
We laugh so hard the neighbors call the cops. Not because of the noise. Because laughter itself feels illegal these days.

The world burns down in real time, livestreamed with ads in between.
And we clap.
And we spark another.
And we grin like the joke is finally on everyone else.

Maybe survival is overrated.
Maybe joy is rebellion.
Maybe the last sound on Earth should be laughter leaking out of lungs full of weed.

-Ashton Loren Ryan