The"Outer" in space.

The words accumulate to sentences and then turn to statements, which form into questions that break the atmosphere and float aimlessly into space because being heard is different than being answered. You build and build then construct pieces of shatter proof glass around your delicate space and say " This time will be different. " Your expectations drop because we all will prolly' die before we can naturally, but most the time I feel like I already have and being pale can get old. My throat crackles with reminisces  of scenes I only used to watch on the TV and I seem to understand the characters more now, but I leave space for bloopers.

Space has left too much for me to love, its dared me to accept the unpredictable and played with me in my loneliness. I muster up excuses to hide from it but it still consumes me, crying out for more. It shimmies in the summer mornings like mucky lake water and screams at me like mother used to do. I let it make me mental and mad until I couldn't speak up anymore, so I leave more and it nods its head and continues on till it gets uneasy again then peers through my confused state and dips its paws in mine. The sun brings rest to my eyelids yet the  moon brings light to my eyes and smoke through my lungs like a jumper to trains.

Blood doesn't guarantee you love, it guarantees you hurt, expectations and questions, my blood has died, has left the state and has put more space in me than pluto ever could from the earth. Yet I need more space to think to have her understand but I am tired of thinking, sick of swallowing and above analyzing.    Where did her face go? The one that matched mine when we used to build forts and catch lightening bugs, while sneaking sweets when mom was cooking. Why do I crave her attention? Why do I need it, and why does she not realize this? She cares. But only when it is convenient and nothing is convenient anymore.
Just let me go, I love Outer-space too much to think of you in it.

- M