literature

my very own astrological speakeasy

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Published: Mar 13, 2017

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Literature Text

did i ever tell you how i used to
melt stardust and burn oxygen,
mix them together,
and bottle liquid atmosphere?
you could get high off the stuff,
milky white with an aurora-like glow
i used to run my hands through it,
watch the wisps curl around my
fingertips like fog and
inhale little bits until there were
shooting stars
ricocheting around my skull and
my head was in the clouds
(it was so easy back then, i had a warehouse full of my
escape, a stock of happiness - enough to last forever)
but i never realized i was robbing all those stars
from somewhere
much closer to home
than the heavens
(when their eyes began to drain and dull and grow dark
i understood that i was the toxic slowly ripping them apart)

i became far too dependent on the sky
and i drank in so much of it that i
became too weightless to stay on
the ground without
rocks tied around my ankles
(they always said i daydreamed too often but i never believed
such a thing existed until i could no longer differentiate reality
from my own imagination - i could even defy gravity)

they say alcohol is a killer but
the stars were killing me
(they were never meant to be trapped in the ribcage of a mortal,
but oh how i wanted them to be, and i thought if we're all made of
stardust anyway it wouldn't be so absurd if i had a little more running
through my veins than everyone else)

but the world was not gentle in
showing me that
i don't deserve that -
that i never deserved special treatment,
and karma bites back hard
especially for sins you cannot recall
and i must've done a lot while i was sleepwalking because
i can't remember what i did to
deserve to be slowly destroyed by
the very thing that made me