i have a universe in my chest; the one without the stars and satellites and galaxies, and sometimes, i tell myself it doesn’t exist
it doesn’t exist
it doesn’t exist.
sometimes, i wanna believe that.
there are nights when the void is getting harder to ignore and the way my stomach sinks feels so much like sinking into merging black holes, and i breathe the way pluto breathes and darling, they say that poems about the universe are romantic.
until it isn’t.
until it consumes you from the inside.
until you see the moons in their planets and the planets in their orbits, and the nebulae flung from dying stars.
and there you are light years away, falling and falling, and falling,