You turn away from your clouds of space dust,

(Oh! how the miniscule particles shimmer in your hands).

You’re sick of walking through the hallucinations of nothingness,

And being over intoxicated at their perfume –

“I’m sick” is what you told me. “And so are you.”

The oceans receded at our feet,

Earth crumbled like we were years of acidic rain,

And the stares that we saw were pinned to kill.

Desperate not to let them take away life,

We were planning our own suicide.

(For isn’t love she slowest form of all?)