it felt like i was lying for nine lives,
but its only been forty seconds.
only i have the gift to fix my mistakes,
with something slightly less wrong.
but no God can repaint the faces
i spent drinking countless chasers,
just to forget and find nothing at all.
all the while, you cried then i cried,
and if i could hold fire,
i'd be the first to turn into ash.
and if you had a voice
for the rest of this story,
you would say nothing at all,
comfortably away from this black hole
but on its outskirts,
on a desperately fleeing star,
im laid down on a lawn chair,
with a bit too much to drink.
counting each second
for a ride I'm too scared to try,
afraid of the direction my soul will go.
until then I will cuddle each meteor,
and cocoon in their craters,
praying to the unforgivable
atmosphere
that the cosmos can recreate
you.