I am writing to the stars in my head
brisk things are they
orbiting the earth where all things grow,
then die
eventually
It is a whirlwind of light,
and darkness pure,
and not enough air to breathe.
i can't breathe.
The thoughts are spinning now
and killing me
and yet making my heart,
a cadaver's heart, beat soundly.
I am not brain dead,
but rather when my pen starts
I am suddenly alive, with fury
and at once again feeling.
I am writing to the stars in my head
perhaps they are gods, or angels
maybe they are only thoughts,
but all I know is this:
they make me feel alive.
brisk things are they
orbiting the earth where all things grow,
then die
eventually
It is a whirlwind of light,
and darkness pure,
and not enough air to breathe.
i can't breathe.
The thoughts are spinning now
and killing me
and yet making my heart,
a cadaver's heart, beat soundly.
I am not brain dead,
but rather when my pen starts
I am suddenly alive, with fury
and at once again feeling.
I am writing to the stars in my head
perhaps they are gods, or angels
maybe they are only thoughts,
but all I know is this:
they make me feel alive.
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