Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?
Tonight, the sky is the graffiti of stars, the salsa dancers seducing the manifolds of space,
Air, full of exclamation marks like conspiracy theories discussed in neon alleys over pawnshop cigarettes.
You see her, polaroids of wonders of the world in her eyes, casting long shadows on your wall visits you once in a while,
A fallen angel with a crooked halo and an ancient forest for a smile.
(Forests are a beautiful, fragile rope balancing life and death, a cemetery of wilderness yet the sanctuary of the wild.)
(But there is nothing more beautiful than a tree growing in a graveyard.)
Her gravity-heavy tongue, now singing lullabies for the stars in a forgotten language, powerful like the beginning of creation, childbirth of art,
Baby fireflies riding a Ferris wheel on her halo and you smile when the tendrils of longing half crawl into your heart.
She says, “Loneliness is cruel, language is a hit and run case of my identity, nobody prayed for me when I needed it the most.”
Aurora wings decayed, eternal backaches and an exile so homeless that homesickness has become a ghost.
(You think, language blindfolds itself before slaughtering the living with the poison of its words.)
(Your identity is a #wanderlust exploring the world for safety and security to tell people that your address is not a closet.)
You feel small, caught in a rat trap of gravity like the stars feel from the distance,
You ask, “Do you miss ichor in your veins, the piety, and the godly existence?”
She laughs, “Darling, you have created gods out of hollow corpses. They would do anything to wither their wings,
Unbind the recycling selfish prayers and purging promises you make in their name, and wash their blasphemy and sins.”
(Even gods are not satisfied in their skin. Gods are selfish and tired carrying the weight of mortality. Gods are sick of being gods.)
(The greatest pain of pain is you cannot feel anyone’s pain and that is the greatest kindness of pain.)
You grin, “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” The sky is a studded tapestry of dreaming stars,
“I hold out to the star systems to slow down my fall like a child on monkey bars.”
She does not sing soothing foreign songs for your longing. You ask, “Do you remember love when it was molten rock, seafoam?”
“Humans are still sediments and rainbow bubbles circling each other for tenderness and to find a person named home.”
(You think, Longing is such a tender word for something so ravenous, something so predatory.)
(You cannot sell dreams to someone who has ruled their nightmares.)
The sky is a junkyard of carcasses of stars, their shimmer surges, and strives,
She asks, “Aren’t we killers? We have all killed a part of ourselves to stay alive.”
The shadow walks away. It is a noiseless noise.
(And when your shadow walks away from you, you’re forced to think if you are even living?)
(But stars remain. Stars will remain with arms extended knowing your war has not ended.)
Darling, you will survive the fall.
~Enigma//”Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?”//
Picture Credits: Google Images
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