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glassea Aug 2015
we die, and the stars watch. let them perish, venus whispers to mercury. see what they have done.

nebulas look at us and laugh at our "rebirth". they know that something as stained as this cannot - will not - come again. humanity was the galaxy's mistake and now it must be blotted out with fusion.

perhaps not all of them are vindictive. (far-off in the sky, andromeda mourns the loss of her story. virgo keens to cancer as they cry silent stardrops.) but for the most part, the universe celebrates our demise.

once upon a time, we worshiped the earth, but now we slumber on as the world crumbles. the planet will not wake us.
the prose version of "when gods die" (1276589), because i've always preferred poetic prose to one or the other.
glassea Aug 2015
DO NOT CRY TO YOURSELF.
CRY TO THE WORLD
SO THEY WILL HEAR
YOUR VOICE.
glassea Aug 2015
let us set aflame
those who thought
we could burn.

they did not know
of the suns within us.

they did not know
you cannot burn
a star.
vaguely inspired by "somos las nietas de las brujas que no pudiste quemar"
glassea Aug 2015
i always adjust the rearview mirror
so that i can't see myself in it.
it has not been a good day ?????
hence this
glassea Aug 2015
welcome to the drowning valley.
we do not live; we exist.

her legs stopped working months ago.
now she drags herself onward
through the floating, bloating bones.
she forgot what she was looking for
years, decades, centuries ago,
and time drags on without her.

nir leaden lungs drag nir down.
air might as well be metal
for all the good it does.
(nir breath moves slow, hissing.)
ne is not yet drowning,
but the watchers do not help nir swim.

he gave in lifetimes past,
but they will not let him die,
so he stares at the sightless sky,
observing it more dispassionately
than it studies him.

they watch with a curious passion.
rulers need not be dictators or cruel.
to be detached is just as simple.
and they watch the people
existing in the drowning valley.
(i have literally no idea what this is)
  Aug 2015 glassea
beth fwoah dream
dreams of the tide,
loneliness,
bold landscapes,
a breeze blowing roses.
  Aug 2015 glassea
raðljóst
eras una tormenta,
y yo, era un pequeño pájaro
asustado por tu trueno,
luchando para volar en tu viento,
sin lugar seguro para aterrizar.
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