Black. The deepest variety of it.
That was   all I saw when I closed my eyes.
Now the black is lit up the whole ******* milky way, and no, I don't mean the candybar.

I might be able to see that and the rest of the world when my eyes are awake and open, but as soon as I close them, and leave my constantly batting eyelashes to rest, I discover an entire universe behind my eyelids.
And among the stars I find you. As the northstar you stand out.
I wish your moral compass pointed north aswell, but I guess the fun was always south
You are surrounded by the constallations of my past, not only making the milkyway a memory lane, but beautifying the mistakes I have made.
There are plenty.
So I guess time really does heal all wounds.
Because my heart no longer feels a big blackattention-craving all consuming hole, but instead like the freaking sun.
Radiating heat to warm up the icy winter and make it feel like summer
All thanks to you, my own Apollo dragging it across the sky in your chariot with the help of your flaming horses.
I call it my own litlle devine miracle.
Everyone gets one and you were mine.

I open my eyes and the universe is gone leaving the world behind.
I see you.
I smile.

a child is being
detained,
along with his
mother,
at a
citgo
quick stop
by an Asian
store owner
suspected
of stealing a
candybar.
f

always trying to prove something, to neself, to the universe,

to the person down the street

ehh purple hair and fractional tennis *****, then

lead the plastic barriers,

remember the number

ohh saintly hell, I feel like the callous on my feet are even stronger than last month, and this walk is jazzy

so I go about proving the gods, or some diety, that this is, infact, tanglible...artifact to be exact

proving it to the widow who fancies the conversation more than the content,

proving it to pine needles who know they willl fall in two, three days, anyway


prove it to myself, and my toes, and my eyeballs

red flesh and bolstered blood,

can I have a candybar for sixpence from the richardsome magician in the sky?

no, he is occiupid with tobacco candy and the home baseman is comalainging about his peanut pickings


If only I was a kite, then fate would truely be out of my hands, and there wouldn't be any more reason to feel proud,

perhaps tied to a tree for an eternity, perhaps confused bewtee the medeterranean sea and south africa,


who could i be?