your soul rings with the explosions of distant stars

collisions with the aftershocks felt in your ichor blood

eternally crashing

stray black holes leave your sorry self a wreck

absurdist god,

not even all the galaxies would be enough to satiate your childish wants;

you long for things in dimensions

that don't even exist

abominable and grotesque, a beautiful repulsion,

fantasy parts fused together into a crybaby beast

you had it all figured out, in the days of your childhood,

the god of chaos had not yet become undone

now you dwell in nostalgia

and mourn your long lost rule

what is it you want?

glory or grace?

purity or vice?

sunflowers or sin?

where is your previous self, the one before the fleshy womb you ate?

you clasp your hands and pray to them

underneath the colossal statue of yourself

you are the universe being catapulted into another,

big bang a million times per minute

supernovas eventually turn to background noise in your head

you smear your palace walls with the pigment of your blood

(to be torn apart launches you closer to the stars you crave;

pain is indistinguishable from bliss)

little monster brain, you were not built to handle this

running empty on wisps of ambition

and stardust sins

all parts of you work

to destroy all that you are

they whisper that you're an abomination but you're not one to be offended

by such simple truths

it's when they dig deep when you fall apart;

the suicide child who destroys moons in their rage

and finds identity in the stars

you want to devour the universe one second

and simply sleep on a tree branch the next

(everything is a symptom of the chaos you are doomed to be)

(you cannot destroy what you love so you destroy yourself instead)

you, born out of me,

chaotic nothings tumbling through time's eventual collapse,

and not even in dreams can we have everything.

2016

📍 outer space

(photo credit: superstarfighter on instagram)