I need space,
a place to escape,
so I go to the stars.

At least there,
It is quiet.

The moment
just before It becomes
too much,
a boiled over pot,
I lend out a reaching hand
to no-one
so i’m not surprised
when it is no-one
who takes it.

Thrown out,
I am a wanderer
spectating my expiring dissolve.

Through a lens,
I watch someone
who looks too much
like myself
far
far
away,
and out of reach from my head.

I watch them eat
with a mouth that can’t taste,
look around with eyes
fogged,
listen with ears
muted.

up here,
on my perch,
it is cold.

I am
forever reminiscent of a dream
that I can never
quite remember the colors of,
just sure
that the monsters
whom await my return
can’t yet reach me
way up here in the stars.