there wasn't much left to say when the sky she beckoned to, broke into a million tiny shackles of stardust and comet-debris. it was once upon a cold November morning that fear knocked on her door and waited to ravish her [because betrayal and silence hadn't done their jobs right] hidden in silent mists, going by the name of winter.
she wished for nothing.
there was no line between numbness and indifference because both made her want to drift through time and space, believing they didn't exist so she could waste as much as she needed to. the sky was breaking fast and now twilight won't kiss her neck.
it was not the cry of fallen angels, wailing only God's name or comet tails, sizzling into revival as they entered the earth's gravitational field. it would be wrong to assume that my heart was not beating within the earth's core - within Gaia's soul itself.
but Man hurts.
he hurts in places Gaia hadn't discovered yet, smoking and hissing tiny bits of matter into massless, wasted