transient drops of cotton suspended in air,
drifting back and forth, as if being directed by an ethereal composer.
nebulas and quasars
forming into a whole, than detonating again in a massive array of scintillating luminosity.
the untamed vitality of the supernova,
vivid igneous arms converging with every corner of whats to happen and what has already happened, the down-tempo replay
coruscating behind my eyes.
Astria, ambassador of the utopian golden age, sketching the sky before me,
drums incircling me, syncing every last beat to my pounding heart.
engulfed in flames but never burning,
the copper key, belonging to the tomb of the king.
My spine is cold. Wandering aimlessly,
My brain a door to stories untold.
My last breaths leaving me painlessly.
-400 degrees farenheit, comatose
the only thing between the buried and me is a dim ray of moonlight.
I wish that i could tell you i was down to earth but as youve heard in these words my head couldnt be farther away from the world.
I awake in a cold sweat. I look around and im still here.
Im not dead yet, im still in the mirror.
my visons fuzzy, my clothes are messy, my feet still hurt, my face still covered in dirt.
i guess im still here for a while, three cheers for planet earth.