there's a black hole
in the middle of my chest-
when I gently press with a finger or two,
the threads encircling the galaxies
cradled by twelve pairs of ribs
get tangled
and ache
who knew sound could echo
from the depths of nothingness?
pain too...
for never did light feel like blades
against raw flesh
such as it did today...
I can feel circles
of dust and thought
grinding against the skin of my left breast
from the inside,
but I cannot free them-
not yet...
this Universe must be kept even when
broken and shattered and scattered
around billions of orbits
with no planets to soothe them-
why must this cancerous creation
forsake itself?
my stars have died
and still I mourn their last
resentful breath...
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