space and reality series

How do you get rid of the demons?

Do you ignore them?
The memories
the anguished cries
and the fearscape
of nightmares and

Do you fight back?
With words as knives
screams with edges sharp
razors and blades glinting
in the moonlight
shredding the silence
slashing at the empty air.

Do you run away?
Push past exhaustion
and the point of no return
dull weights on your eyes
drained - with your mind
caught swirling around and
around and around…
until you fall into the abyss.

Do you say hello?

The moon is kissing me again;
along my collarbones,
down the nape of my neck
and on my open palms
that clasp a prayer dedicated
to a God who’s forgotten
about me.

She plants these butterfly kisses
through the drizzle of the rain
and these droplets mingle
with the saltiness of my tears.

Her soothing whispers are carried
on the lonely midnight breeze,
listening on like an old friend.
She caresses secrets like a mother
who holds her newborn;
protectively and lovingly.

Heaven is alive and it’s burning,
burning so badly…

the sky falling with its
eternal stars and graceful moon,
gravity dragging them down.

the stench of ash filling my lungs
and suffocating out the light of day
breathing in the death and decay.

Hell is clawing its way up
all fire and brimstone,
bitter winds and slicing ice.

the chaos stings to look at,
but blindingly do I glance,
and it’s so so beautiful.

white specks dance
dance in my vision with
the curse of the heavens.

and then… nothing.


These midnight musings
and mutterings
are not for mundane ears.

A quiet scream; a silent hum.

A frequency tethered
to the rumbling of volcanoes,
the crashing of tidal waves,
and the murmuring of storms.
To the life of buzzing cities,
the cries of lost ghosts,
and the whine of aeroplanes.

All atop a planet, a rock, a speck,
with its soundless roar 
hurtling throughout space.

Have you noticed,
dearest? The moon
is wearing a new hue
of her melancholy blue.

She’s still beautiful but
her face has paled,
sadness tinging her grey eyes,
seeming slightly more distant.

I call out into the night
waiting for a response that’s
falling on deaf ears because
she’s slowly drifting away.

Gravity is weakening its grip
on her, weakening its hold to the
tether that connects her to
the Earth like an old friend.

I am a fallen star dropped
from the void of the cosmos,
once surrounded by darkness,
breathing in oblivion,
until I tumbled down to Earth.

You found me and took the 
glistening stars from my eyes,
the streaming comet tails 
that marked my cheeks, and
my mind, a hypnotic black hole.

With a shatter the galaxies blew out 
like an overworked light bulb, 
raining glass down in fine sugared
particles - for we are all particles -
and I was left emptier than 
the void I once occupied.

Cosmic Tides

I want you to drink in the sights,
to quench your decadence.
The stars wink at you,
the audience of the ebony canvas.
The moonlight dances on the
push and pull of the gentle motions,
dark waters breathing,
keeping Mother Earth alive.
With the beacon shining down on you,
pure, distilled from the Sun’s harsh radiance,
it’s ancient knowing gifts you
with clairvoyance, a third eye.
However, tread carefully my dear,
preoccupied with the audience above,
or they will tug you down
into the depths of the abyss.
The cascading waves crash on the shoreline
and you begin to learn to breathe
in tune with its cosmic rhythm.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
The future, although seemingly unpredictable,
can be sensed, its essence present.

Dear Universe,
Sometimes I feel like deleting everything I’ve ever said. I have that irrational feeling to erase every piece of my existence. What if I just didn’t show up to class? What if I turned invisible for a day? What if this is all a dream?
It probably wouldn’t make a difference. No one pays much attention to me anyway. My words fall on people’s ears like a loose leaf, quiet like a rustle, not a roar. Their ears are filled with something already, though; an inner voice so loud that it drowns out my own distant ramblings. I want to help however I can, to soothe their worries and say I understand (because I honestly do), but all I am left with is a distracted mumbled goodbye and a friendly smile. It’s what I expect but not what I hope for.
You hear me though, don’t you, Universe? I mean, I may just be yelling into the void, but surely there must be some transcendent being observing me. Or at the very least, having had glanced at me so as to confirm that I am real. But I am real, I tell myself. I am real. I am. I am real. I am. I tell myself over and over again, as if repeating it will make it true.
I am, I exist.
(Please. Someone? Anyone? Universe? Whisper back.)


Above our heads roars an ocean
filled with comets
that streak and thread themselves
through space like veins
while meteor showers trickle by.

It is mostly empty, though -
vast distances that sit, cold
at absolute zero
where not even the light of suns
glance in their direction.

And silhouettes and shadows,
secrets and stars alike,
that are shrouded in the darkness
breathing and living
are slowly becoming one with the void.

We will find each other
when the smoke and dust
has settled quietly inside our lungs.
We will find each other
when the air smells of fresh rain
and traces of dirt have found their home
underneath our chipped fingernails.
We will find each other
when the stars are far and few,
formless in their pinpointed position,
flickering lights fighting the endless darkness
that threatens to consume them; consume us.

I skip on the edge of the void,
dancing and twirling
but blind.
You might think me a fool
to gamble with death this way;
bravery mistaken for stupidity
and unnecessary risks.
Listen to the thump of my heart
faster and
faster and
it races -
so unbearably loud compared to
the void I am doing handstands
near, on the verge of just                               tipping

And who knows?
Perhaps you are the fool.
In which case I pity you
to never know the world
outside your comfort zone.

The sun has settled into its grave of hills and valleys
and I can smell the burnt grass from here;
a hint of sweetness in amidst the acrid odour.

The sky darkens, mourning the death of its first love,
and the clouds grow heavy with tears
while the smoking embers float upwards.

They grow lighter and smaller and purer,
settling into the darkness like a sigh
and making a home for themselves in oblivion.

And although time doesn’t seem to touch them
these insignificant specks, these dust motes in the night,
like all things they are temporary; a blip in eternity
but are made all the more beautiful for it.

Dear Mother Moon,

What is it like
being surrounded
by empty space,
the golden radiance
of Father Sun
barely brushing
your porcelain skin?

How do you manage
to not feel so lonely up there,
all night, every night
so far away from
glittering city lights
and the distant star lights?

What do you think
of the stars dying,
of knowing that
the eternal day will end
and the ocean of stars
will stop breathing
one day?