The star studded visor made ticks of the distant suns.
Each one like a cell of silence, creeping in to his spacesuit like paranoid cockroaches.
The still hum of static faded in and out as the parallel current pulled him.
He drifted slowly through the abyss.
Sunlight in the far called memories of bright eyes.
"I could kiss the sun, melt away into the universe."
Her fingertips were warm in a cosmic dream.
"Or we could kiss the moon together, and get lost in the sound."
He felt so foolish now, the only sound was a racing pulse.
Here in his safety net,
Here he was trapped with that sound.
Beating heart in a jar,
The sound of breath,
His voice.
And a mental tempest swelled with each breath,
How many more till he suffocated in black.
In pitch black mute.
And thoughts like these cause riots in his chest.
His heart like automatic warfire.
Pulsing louder than the silence in the suit,
Beating harder then the stars on his visor,
And it was the silence that broke his walls.
That broke down his silent hills with silent screams.
He saw himself, his face red and fogging a glossy mask.
Bleeding through his intestines, spewing into his esophagus,
Vomiting empty sound.
And from outside he saw a sad man wasting his breath on useless burdens.
But the madness, the beautiful,
The grandiose silence.
The gentle finger of space pushing down on his brain,
So slowly, but so sure of its intentions.
So he screamed until he could only squeak,
Until his tears were as good as warm skin.
Until a raspy squeak was a meager whimper.
And so the astronaut,
And so his memories,
And so they were all lost.
The playful twines of silent nights were truly vicious.
As he cried, alone at last.
He found silence not in a whimper, But a bang.
-P.S.