Screams come from shadows
the dark is thick
air turns to ash into my lungs
my bones tremble under thought

Where are they?
My demons don’t walk
down the street
up the hall
into my room
up to me….

Are they gone?
I miss the forceful choking,
weight against my chest
asphyxiation in the absence
their finest act.

What if
in every black hole,
created by loneliness
and forgotten words,
lies a galaxy
created all its own —
remnants of the implosion
scar the beauty
but will
remain a perfect
imperfection
of the new creation;
from what was believed
to be nothing emerges
everything.

Structured by the hands
of a god,
a perfect tracing of
what is needed --
survival is not an option.

Lose yourself in me.