Literature
some days i think id like to eat the universe.
pass the stardust, darling.
there is never enough flavour for this greedy palate,
tongue sponging across the acrid surfaces-
not every world is as green as ours, of course.
somehow, everything you touch
ends up tasting
vaguely
like dust & ashes.
(we've had them before, of course.
the skeletons of our demons were strangely...
satisfying.)
you whispered late one night
that maybe i shouldn't be here.
maybe i shouldn't be.
even if i was,
i was probably born in the wrong skin,
anyway.
now that i think about it,
it makes sense.
i always did want to taste the nebulae,
& drink the souls of the dead.
it would probably lower the number of ghost
