Fried Apocalypse and a side of toast

The end of the world was cause,
of course, for celebration in
most circles, but not, sadly, in mine.

My circle has no sides, and that
I suppose is reason enough to
accept the inevitable and move on.

It is only after ripping, five at a time,
the hairs from my left forearm
that I can stop crying,

"Apocalypse, Apocalypse!" I feel
my doom and yet it I can not accept.

The end of the world has no palm trees,
of course, there is sand in
large endless beaches, but sadly, no sea.