Blackhole
When you left me,
nothing but stones
filled the sky
and I was left
asking why.
The stars became shadows
drenched in sparkling
darkness
and you
made it all darker.
I remember
when we connected each star
as moments connected
memories
and memories connected
milestones
and milestones connected
us back to the stars.
But I figured
constellations are mere
connections
of imaginary lines
traced by hopeful hearts.
And when all hope
is lost,
constellations are just
images we imagine
to prove that things
make up a whole
that things are complete
when they aren't.
The whole are just holes.
The plot are just dots
scattered in the sky
staring, asking why
why we look at them
when they're nothing
but reflections
of dead stars.
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YOU ARE READING
Rainbow Bliss: An Anthology of LGBTQ+ Poetry & Stories
Poetry❝I wanted to kiss you, but you told me you don't like the taste of rainbows.❞
