I see the ghosts of my fallen formers animated before me,
I have yet to meet the stranger who reads me bedtime stories.

Haunting cosmic music lures me from my bed at night,
I feel pink static tickle my brain before I take flight.

I’m not equipped to handle the energy mania bestows upon my mind:
A hypernova blast ripping through my universe, leaving nothing left to find.

The bustling sounds- of what once was- draws me downstairs,
I hear the kettle boiling, the television blaring, the scraping of chairs.

The magical love I feel is compressed, in my chest, into a tiny singularity.
If this is what you call crazy, then I don’t want to come back to reality.