tearing every inch of me apart
piece by piece
until i've lost the different halves of me
the days go by, i lose myself a bit each time
oh, where does it all go?
where does your body go if you never return home?
---
people are young, that much is true
but i know for once that i'm older than you
and when i look into your eyes
i see my fears reflected back to me
the fear of dying young and living too old
because dying when you're young reaffirms your dreams
and dying when its all said and done gives you a legacy

who is my soul? i may never learn
could be built from the shadows
on planets far away from earth
could be constructed from the cracks
chipped off of asteroids,
a visual representation of the void
i'd argue that it doesn't matter where
each part of me comes from this universe
---
i want to glide along a cosmic wavelength
feel myself move through multiple dimensions
if space-time is a continuum then why am i stuck
in a vacuum, forced to live a life of singularity?

Little do you know, how beautiful you are.
Your eyes are the stars in the sky that is only mine,
You take me to my moon with each glance.

Little do you know, how beautiful you are.
Your voice is the first song I've ever listened to,
You lift me up into my own heaven.

Little do you know, how beautiful you are.
You make my Christmas feel like the only Christmas,
You let me dress in all my favorite hues.

Little do you know, how beautiful you are.
Your fingers touch my planets in all the right directions,
You create a painting on my lips with yours.

Little do they know, how good you are.
They do not wish me with you,
They believe you got rid of my sunshine.

Little do they know, how wrong they are.
You make my days darker, but my stars brighter,
You are my night, you are my universe.

Little do you know, how beautiful you are.
All my stars are every atom on your body,
And I wish to drench myself in it.

He’s the space man, and he’s out of this world
Planets **** about his waist, fingertips warm.
On Sunday he blitzes the Milky Way
like a silver bullet, its the crazy guy holding the gun. Not me. For he's
like a star just born. His fingertips warm
treading lightly through the maze
of light and creation.

A keen look in his curling smile, he
leaps to catch the morning's first flight
on the climbing glimmers of a shooting star,
that so shimmers against the warm Spring nights.

The sunken sun, resting below
his feet, his body stands alone.
Wrapped in a pink and yellow glow,
he sets out on the voyage home
to the furthest reaches, the universe edge
where vast forests creep in the dust and smoke,
he waits,
in silence
he waits,
for Monday
when he's reborn. His fingertips warm.

As I gaze up at the sky,
I have a strange sense of deja vu.
I look beyond the moon,
and on my breath,
my soul lifts to stars
light years from here.
To cosmic worlds
of planets and galaxies.
Where blackholes breach
the edge of space and time.
Where asteroids as large as planets
travel through the Milky Way.
Occasionally,
colliding,
leaving clouds of
interstellar dust behind
in their wake.
I breathe in,
then out,
and my soul returns
on an even breath,
leaving me with just
a brief taste
of the world
from which I came.

I feel so much time on my hands, and with so much time.
I waste it away,
I feel I have little time on my hands and with so little time,
I rush and scramble about to hold onto it.

It's been said that time is an illusion,
a phenomenon made by humans.

Animals don't worry about time,
they worry about family, food, the sun, the moon,
water, no water.
earth, no earth.

Humans worry about birthdays, lateness, money, bills,
manicure, no pedicure.
gas, no gas.

Time. I worry about it,
I worry about my family, food, the sun, the moon,
water, earth, birthdays, manicures and no pedicures.

Will this mean something in a few years?
will time wear on the pages?
Will my time have run out to see it?

I feel so much time on my hands, and with so much time.
I waste it away,
I feel I have little time on my hands and with so little time,
I rush and scramble about to hold onto it.

There must be more than this.
More than what lies
beyond the deep,
blue sky.
Where stars condense,
and collide.
Where glalaxies spin,
and multiply.
Where life blooms,
but never dies.
There must be more
than what lies
at the end
of an ordinary life.

You gave him entire galaxies
But in his mind
All he saw was a single planet.