Persephone

 I made my own dead star.
I called it Persephone
because I was sure it would come to life
if I could find the right place to touch it.

I couldn’t make it work.

So, I’ll throw it backwards as I stumble forward
let it lead the next directly to me.

I met my salvation
or, so he promised
but yesterday, he leaned over my left shoulder
and whispered “Bullshit!”

I should have known better.

Expect this new light to eventually devour the old
Expect these sharp teeth to rip apart the fabric of  absolute zero.

Towards the horizon, the sun sets blue.
The cold shadow it casts on the concrete reminds me of your neglect
leaving your absence cut into the book of life
with intense clarity.

You broken machine, you impotent throb, you unbelievable savant.

You are the morphine in the apple.