A Taste

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: December 04, 2016

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Submitted: December 04, 2016

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It's a funny thing,
Climbing a tree,
To reach for distant galaxies.

Swaying to and fro,
Touching stars so hot,
So large,
Time stops

Kissing monsters made of moondust,
And mercury.

Shivering as phantom hands caress your soul,
Fingers deep in every curve,
Every crevasse.

A single sniper's bullet to the brain,
Quick and painless,
Stopping time.

And then,
You've fallen,
Hitting every branch,
Broken and bleeding.

But you will climb again.
Because you need to touch that nebula.
You need to feel the heat of the stars.
Or else feel nothing at all.


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