i didn’t want this to happen. didn’t want to get launched into saturn. unmanned vessel. haunted mansion. it’s so hard to imagine myself even a month ago. don’t even remember how to breathe without thinking of you. i breathed differently before. connect the dots in the sky. constellation prize. consolation, sky. but now I’m an astronaut (not by choice) i have all the equipment. but i breathe different. houston asks if I’m okay. i tell them, i don’t remember my training.
“but you’re alone up there. and radio signals are giving out soon”
why does every moment replay in my head, but more vividly than when it actually happened. why does my brain think it’s funny to repaint reds better than when i saw them? your lipstick, like a pastel, oil canvass. whites are whiter than ever. they’re almost blinding. dress like a fucking north star. twinkling with this coalescing ember. i press the buttons on the machine and i keep getting error messages. oxygen. check. gasoline check. heartbeat? morse code.
can’t make out what it says. it’s too complicated. dit dit dot, dit. ITS TOO COMPLICATED.
i woke up out of this coma, and nothing makes sense anymore. I’m just taunted by how beautiful my brain recreates entire galaxies. how brown jewels locked into mine and 4 coffee spheres would load up ungodly combustion within inches from each other. like magnetic, electric fire. are we describing planets, or eyeballs? outside? the world silent. space, an unfathomable, token of random poetic nature. but, 4 unbroken galaxies reading each other. 2 and 2. have you ever seen brown eyeballs under the sun? you should. they were embarking, and creating remarkable universes. and now I’m lost in one.