cd-107

a phantom

devouring worlds.

insatiable, unbearable,

searing constellations on my torso,

the star systems,

maps of my fate,

every stop that i died.

i pray for,

cold nitrogen release,

all burns terribly.

throwing me to my knees.

my head to the ceiling.

is this prayer?

begging, pleading,

does god take pride in what he sees?

star systems gone,

visceral, gut tearing.

i hear all their screams.

still better than any silence,

through in his voice seeps.

"he waits," a damn lie.

burdened, the phantom cries.