stand in space time(try not to distort it(those fucking stars do it all the time)), find your saviour holding the planets in his mouth and dancing in nebulas, find your god brushing his lips on a protostar(giving it a sweet blessing–i never knew he was that nice), find your prayers mending the universe with sagittarius' bow string. soak in a bath of comet tears and primordial black holes, let your pores suck in dark matter until they look like the night sky(clear and melancholic), grasp solar winds in your mouth, eat hydrogen and helium clouds daily with bread made of grains grown on neptune. treat your body like you treat god–like you want to believe in him but you end up having sweet guilt every time. try and be faithful, try not to have too much booze and try to hurt people less, try to pet an asteroid once in a while, try not to waste your time visiting that sketchy ass psychic who's probably high up in the sky when she reads your palm. don't buy cheap jewelry, don't dance at bars for money, don't give into the temptation of throwing that ugly vase your racist aunt gave you against your shitty apartment wall when you get pissed off(and that happens a lot).
YOU ARE READING
paraphernalia
Poetrypretentious poetry. FOREWARNING: this was written over three years. my style changes dramatically, as does everything else. quality of pieces varies.
