Stars.

stars.

we are forever surrounded by spiraling stars.

we float alone on lakes of inky blackness,

overarching skies dark.

But everywhere-

stars.

they drift like fireflies,

spreading in every direction,

tiny pinpricks of light in the dark.

all is quiet.

peaceful.

calm.

the serenity you would only think to find in Death.

there are no voices here.

no hissing, no anguish, no pain, no regret.

only the solace of the stars.

~ Echoes

1/2

“If you are a sunset, my love, then I am the silent, cloud- blanketed night that comes after. Darkness always chases after light, but neither light nor dark are inherently good or evil, despite the stigma. Nights are for the insomniacs and the dreamers and the broken and the lost. We find comfort in silence and the company of few. Night is full of galaxies and stars and longing. How can it ever be considered evil?”

~ On Poets and Writers and Painters and Love

the textured sky

is a thousand shades of blue

and many more of grey.

and the horizon

is misted over and hidden beneath layered fog.

but in the distance,

among the fleeting wisps of pale rose tendrils

a pulled seam, a cruel knife’s gash

a split in the atmosphere, spitting forth the brightest colours the sunset has to offer

a distant glowing inferno, burning through the sky.

a sharp glimmer, savagely out of place.

then the seam closes, the harsh inferno hidden

once again

behind blankets and oceans and skies of darkening grey.

“Perhaps some people are simply fated to wander alone, too far from the stars, until they simply disappear.”

~ Contemplations

Is anything ever truly blameless when it comes to people? To humanity?

No.

Sometimes these things just seem to happen, but...

but there nearly always a fault

In the parting of ways, in destruction, in hurting

Even when it is unintentional, even when it is not understood

And as long as I am concerned...

It is always me.

It has always been me.

~ On Poets and Writers and Painters and Love

(Found written on a calculator, part one)

“sometimes, i dream about flying.

i dream that i have wings like a falcon’s and i can soar above the trees and far away from this life.

far, far away.

but i do not have wings, or if i do, they have been clipped and i will never be able to fly.

i will never be able to escape, my mother has made sure of that.

there is a chained, caged, clip- winged bird in my chest fluttering weakly, trying to break free.

but as the inferno scalds her again and again, and her attempts at escape prove futile-

she begins to give up, lose hope.

she.

is.

giving.

up.”