To the stars without any wings. My life began each night in a sick man’s dream. Careless and in disorder. A freak of nature he was sometimes called. “Help yourself to heaven anytime that you want.” Knowing one did not exist. The words still sounded so comforting coming from his list of lies, floating off his lips. My final plummet always frightened him though because he knew I would and wanted to jump. Sleeping that day until the night, again I awoke. He was not ready to stop the torment, I allowed myself to endure. But out of his control you see and craving more. How did I get in here? Stuck in his head! Is this a corruption in mine. Maybe, being it’s so absurd! From bad to worst and gaining. His fleeting years are moments of mine. An embarrassing variety of choice. So I jumped.
Art by Mathieu Moindron