every thought multiplies…
and manifests
the saddest scene of our gilded youth.
as if god stood on my chest,
or the world declared a war quietly,
and all of the gold unleashed
and tighten my peach neck
in circle,
to slipknot in an iron hand.
"and to think of a diamond mind,
of a tour through the space and time,
to see the pluto collide,
would you consign your religion?
or offer yourself suicide?"
and if you,
my le petit prince,
covet all the cosmic heat,
the galaxy burst instantly,
overflow throughout with grief.
