me in the sea of my daydreams and silent thrills
while my voyage’s storm without lightning
looms over the blue moon,
waiting for its moment to bring me
closer to death.
I hope the blue moons of the other timelines
of the multiverse theory
be saved from the thorns sprouting from my shadows
and the needle rains of my hurricane,
for their convergence shall be the dawn of the universe’s
darkest black hole,
and neither beauty nor romance will exist elsewhere.
Death, death, death… be the name of the heart.
Is the feeling factory of the nervous mind
a necessary evil or an “own good”?
I am the century doll once again, and never
have I imagined it to resurface into
the monster I thought I had battled my way through.
I float on the stratosphere,
undecided whether I dare to run with the sun
or walk on river prickles of
this spiked land.
For I am the blue moon, and maybe
I belong with the sun after all.