Spun out of control, consummated consumption wrought us together, but now you need space
but there's no air for me to breathe in space, where I am left. The well of your gravity keeps me close, insides vacuuming out as I stare helpless at your blue white corona holding the one thing that would save me,
(drowning in an inch of water, oxygen so near but impossibly far...)
if only it would pull me back in again.
The stars comfort you, but there are none here visible, as my eyes shed their blood vessels to the nothing that coldly cradles me.
I'm dying out here, baby, and I don't want to get lost in this space.