our wayward stars

29 9 0

guide the specimen

through the maze

and through the rain

rinsing our clothes

like they're still on fire

and somewhere, well

they probably are

and you pray

like tomorrow itself

is the fuel

that empties our dark places

like what lives there

goes away at dawn

but it doesn't

and i pray

like tonight itself

is the dark

that fuels our light

like what lives in each

feeds the ugly other

and it might

but, we're all prey

and the dream itself

is the place where

our chemical flames

hit the surface

flailing as we sink

in panicked clothes

from a distance

we must look like

wayward stars

lost, accepting the

drowning slow burn

of our descent

we look like what we are

tragedy of existence(mid night poetry part 2)Read this story for FREE!