Drowning in self-made galaxies
pooling on the sides of a man's rainy eyes;
Pulling your knees up to your chest
as you scream for black holes instead.
You were raised in stars and wished that they were comets so you could crash.
You breathed constellations and hoped you would choke on their dust.
You, the one who painted skies and dwelt on planets, prayed to be earthy for once.
But this world isn't ready for you;
for space-living and spitting truth.
Because this world is full
of blazing hollows and self-absorbed fools.
For you are the grave and I'm the rain;
you are the sun and I am May;
you are the summer and I'm just the haze.
You, the shimmering star;
I, the hopeful fool who embraced the star and didn't realize I was getting burnt until I was mere space dust.
YOU ARE READING
Lighthouse
PoetryA lighthouse is your only hope in the vast ocean and you can only hope the crashing waves won't tear it apart. Poems that I wrote in order to live. Each photo that is accompanying each poem is mine, representing memories which go back years. © Alex...
