Today I gift you
What I could say
Is something that
Is always marching
Pounding beating screaming
Thumping wanting yearning
Calling out for and to you
Captivating my inner desires
And lauching them outward onto you.
Projecting my true wants and ambitions
My repressed longs and supressed needs
Getting lost in a world of eyes
Acting like you never weren't here
Or pretending that you've always felt the same
Thinking we've always been together
Giving you the gift of knowing
The process of rebirthing
The workings of love
And summoning the courage to do so;
Today I gift you
My heart.
About the Creator
E. C. Gabriel
Writing
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Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis6 days ago in Humans
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