Phaeton climbed his magic gold ladder,

but when he reached the clouds they crushed his very soul.

His head exploded into orange stars

and he died.

As thousands of years passed

those cosmic creatures turned blue

and became what we see today.

The sun is made of Phaeton's eyes.

People explosion,
Over population,
Dark on the sun,
How big is too big?
Is it too many figs?
What's your solution
to people explosion?
They bring pollutions,
Over population,
Dark on the sun,
Maybe free contraception,
Some new invention?
Chemical free solutions
to people explosions,
Over population,
Dark on the sun.

As the sun creases my eyes open
It ignites, starts an explosion
It continues the erosion
Inside my head
It all turns red
It's where it's bled

I shake the cobwebs from my head
Looking into the future with dread
New tragic things will come my way
Try as I might to keep it all at bay

The residue from last night's dream
The echo of my screams
The bright warm sunbeams
Can not chase away
The thoughts of the day
Where my demon play

I live a life where smiles are miracles
Happiness is only mythical
It all leaves me cold and miserable
Guess that's why I'm so cynical
All I really want is a life that's livable

"Oh just look on the bright side."
That's what my mother always told me...
Every time I reached in the pocket of my life
Hoping to find some change
But instead, pull out a grenade pin.
My mother always told me..
"To look on the bright side."
Sure! I usually thought.
Maybe my good luck
Might start with a boom!
Maybe my fantasies
Will come with a flash and fallout!
..Either way, I could be good or gone..
Because I took my mothers advice.
And looked for a bright side to a bomb.

and an answer
bitter ***** be better
can't cut continue ****
don't do damage dark
electric energy exiting
finding figurative feelings
giving girls gestures
having her hair held
in inches intricately
just jostling judging
**** kinetic kindness
licking like love lives
make more madness mandatory
not new naked nausea
original order opposed
pretty pink particularly painful
quick questions quiet
reflections reproducing resentful
soaked sorrows soothingly
to take time
under universal urge
violent victories
welcoming weapons with whispers
xenophobic
ziplocked zombies

If given the chance,
we could make fireworks,
I'd ignite
the fire beating in your chest,
and create
a beautiful E X P L O S I O N.
I'd taste the sizzle on your tongue,
a searing blaze glowing in my mouth.
Wrapped up in our own fervid inferno,
we would
        melt together,
into a galaxy on fire.

I walk with weary eyes
Tired of seeing, no longer willing to hear
My head spins from the smoke of your conflagration
Burn me down from the inside out
Lungs of ice trap the filth
Make sure the essence becomes my own
I try to scream but cough out words of rancour
A whirlwind of smoke and embers
My ashes block the sun
Nothing can grow here

Short, quick bursts thrum through the night, punctuated by longer, deeper blasts that shiver all the way down to my toes. The steamy July air crackles with energy and excitement as anticipation of the grand finale hums through every nerve ending.  The blasts come closer and closer together, until at last a glorious explosion of shuddering brilliance illuminates all, leaving us shaking and filled with breathless wonder.

And then we decide to go watch the fireworks.

Explosions in the Sky
bringing renewed hope
for our humanity