-shooting Searing Stars-
The silky searing touch of sappy loving blood is all too much,
Milky stars melting into my murky mind as my body's red mud burns to the touch.
Make my hole riddled skin into astronomy,
Chart something pretty into my mortal flesh that holds too much within to be.
I see stars so let me be them,
Pressure building up into collapse to be the divinity of the friend they saw in him.
Dying, this body knows it to be raspberry meshed true.
Lying, I smile and laugh about the filth fleshed hue.
I wish not to be he who slithers in spite,
I wish not to be he who stares empty at his ceiling fast through the night.
But alas these eyes already a canvass for worlds to build,
Shedding and molding my mucked intent to be suicidally willed.
Alas it at last hurts too much to see,
So rather I pray for you to let me be astronomy.
-end-
Copyright © Doc Doctor | Year Posted 2021
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