Shooting star...
Take me to where they are...
They who live in the galaxy
A black hole of nothingness
Silence.
Emptiness envelopes my presence
Shrouding my existence
An acrimonious sense of desolateness
A vision of exquisiteness
True beauty.
In a distorted, grotesque form
A fraility like no other
So translucent.
Fine gossamer on a shrub
A taciturn.
Laconism is omnipresent
in a maze of never ending spirals
an unsurmountable mountain
unrestrained.
shooting star...
take me to where they are.


i hate it when you're like that.