As I fill up journals with ink
And listen to the end credits
Of a movie play,
I can't help but think.
Not just about you, which
I would be frightened to know
Whether or not that would be
What you wanted, but also about
Me. Because sometimes I feel like a
Wandering comet that has strayed
A bit too far from its orbit.
And if I land on the Moon, I create
A huge crator that will be there
'Til the end of time, unless
A larger object blows it away.
Yet no one will notice.
But if I land on the Earth, I get to
Shine brightly among the stars
In the night sky, for so many people
To wish upon and admire.
Yet I only burn for a second,
And then I am belittled to nothing
But a speck of dust
In the sand.
YOU ARE READING
Froot Loops @ Midnight
PoëzieI don't know why I care about your thoughts so much. Who the hell cares why you're up at three in the morning?
