A handful of stars, glass toys to decorate the sanctuary of the frailest; razor-sharp stars, as I squeeze tighter they cut deeper, infecting my bleeding wound with microscopic dust that will be there, invisible but painful long after my wounds are scars and the stars are gone. I punish them instead myself.
My vexed approach brought tearful questions; deer’s eyes, startled, staring from afar, there in the depth, in the blackness; a sanctuary no more – broken by a figure of trust and unquestionable love. The destroyer of stars, annihilator of these objects of light manipulation which transform the coldness of the bitter world into a soft blue glow that calms. Oh how I crave for them to be such.
But in the stars I know the worst; I see the color of despair, black and cold and dead. By the stars I know their fate, for I have become the pitiful witness of its colossal beginning and its silent ending.
How wretched I am suffocating in my weakness – the unknown murderer of mankind. Pressed upon me this invisible burden, a word on my tongue, but a bite on my lip as in selfishness or fear I hesitate and turn away from my confession. I am filled with remorse, with hatred towards my own being for not able to speak out my hidden knowledge; for not being able to answer those questions and comfort the weeping child before me.
For the sake of those who I love…I can do no good. Salvation has been denied by the stars and all will perish but a few souls damned to live amongst spirits and ruins. Life is a temptation and in the hours of dying I will choose it notwithstanding the misfortune of such existence.
I am depraved as I abandon and mark as condemned those who blest sleep and dream of a tomorrow.
As I leave them in the dark, darkness itself shrouds me, consuming my secret, giving it shelter. And the glimmering judges above watch…
A handful of death stars; as I squeeze tighter they cut deeper. Though no matter how deep they cut, the pain cannot compare to that daggering my heart, swallowing my soul.