It is a vastness of cerulean,
A pool of blue which surrounds clouds that are strewn together.  
Tumbling, accumulating, towering formations of remarkable depth and awesome beauty.
Billows which blanket and envelop a sphere of life, turning the almost infinite and indefinite blue to grey,
Massed with the heaviness of forthcoming precipitation.
As time turns, and the big blue planet rotates, sunlight is reflected and refracted by particles unseen—painting swelling clouds with pale yellows that bleed into succulent pinks, deep reds, royal indigo, and then
The flowering violet of conceived night.
The sky portrays a huge entity, a formation of solidity and stability.
It does not contain, nor withhold from the terraces and crevices of the Earth’s surface.  
It is as close to infinity as the basic human mind can grasp,
The uttermost extension of one’s realm of existence.

To look up at the stars is an annihilation of Ego,
A humbling reminder of one’s relevance,
Of one’s fragmentation of being,
Of one’s essential insignificance in the immortal turning of the deep and everlasting vibration of the Cosmos.

Stars, barely conceivable at times,
Act as portals to the past spilled carelessly across an inky nighttime sky.
These subtle flecks, minute glimmers of incredible explosions, are billions of light-years away
Across the fabric of space and time.
The sky is an incredible portal to those things outside of mortal grasp,
A manifestation of all that is unknown, yet shared by every state of consciousness.  
A familiarity and a comforting reminder of eternity that will exist far beyond the human experience.  With its undulating formations, precipitation, protection, and sheer exposure,
It is a paradoxical beauty.

Thought catalyzed by stimulus.

A change in electrical impulses which burst and branch from outstretched, pink-tipped fingers.
Signal which travels thousands of multifaceted miles that curl and weave amongst themselves as highways of
Impulse.
Nerves act as roads that facilitate reaction.

Conception born from vibrations, undulating and deepened waves.

Concept begot from color gradients.
Cones, rods, and darkness absorb light into their small oblivion.
Each detecting.
Reflection and refraction of pure white—
Energy

Electrical signals, as firecrackers, flicker and ignite a flame within the mind,
The cytoplasmic, grey mass.
A paradoxical recognition of self.  
Beings of electrical processes and mechanics.

The subconscious acts as a blueprint in its seemingly endless convoluting of chemical coding.

Consciousness spirals out to the depths within what is unknown,
A place with no agenda and no aspiration.
Until the mind recoils back to the comforting space which encompasses the forefront of one’s faintly
Surfacing thoughts.

Weak static creates an uncomfortable tautness in the air.
A sound emitted from the screen is heavy, weighing.
Muted light grips to ions which imperceptibly moss over the dusty glass monitor.  
A world within a dish.  
Slapdash pixilation.
Fragments—just fractions, part in snaps.
No image takes form in the storm of digitalized points, indistinctive refrain is absently composed.
The apartment, thick with a cloudy green hue.
Stripped, pink shoulders, a flush which spreads in a subtle frenzy—
Bleeds across an exposed chest.  
Vulnerable core.  
Noticeably contracting, beating the high concentration of life from one source
Into branched capillaries.
Into plush, coy lips—
Hush.
Sinews tear, a dark liquid pools, liberated from perforations.  
Flowing from the source and staining porcelain teeth.
Indulgence.
The innate capability to devour proves true outside feasting.  
Femininity of unbridled ******* and echoing amusement,
Eternalized.
Cataplexies pressed and dried upon blank, white pages which prove difficult to turn—
only facilitated by the hand of time.
A vast expanse of briny depths outstretches further than what’s perceivable.
Waves rock a feeble coo which escapes from child’s lips at the spectacle of a mother.
*Cri de Coeur