It’s mere somesthesia here

I want to be a space cloud getaway. I need a ship that shoots

for stars. Destination one-way: a milkyway holiday.

And when I disembark by jet-powered seat explosion I will

turn to dust and live, scattered, swimming, in perpetual

motion of star residue. Perhaps my eyes will survive and stay

whole, so I can see all parts of me glimmer as they float in this

airless ocean. I can breathe here though, because with bursting

every particle of me will ooze out all emotion [it’s mere somesthesia here]

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