by Doc Marek

The stars are dead
time machines looking to the past
planets on a different dimension,
orbiting in a solar system
at the speed of light
toward a black hole
at the center of the universe,
spinning in beautiful infinity
creating obscure constellations,
painting my mind with fantasies
only perceived as heaven.
I’m an astronaut in the void,
a speck of dust
and I have the nerve to ask
“Can you see me?”

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