god is watching you watch the stars

Poetry | Syna Majumder

cw: suicidal intent

it is midnight, when all cliches happen,

and of course she is making coffee at the

slab on which the induction burner

lives, pressing her fingers against cool

granite. she is thinking about that one

week when she did this for her father,

and she is thinking about me before

she gives it up to stare out of her

invisible windows at the screaming

mess of the skies, stars scattered

like stolen jewels on velvet, breaking

apart with the ease of a dagger through

willing skin. yes, there is coffee in

space, just like there is longing,

and the fear of losing loved ones to

time. these things have become ours.

she knows that where she stands is

somewhere people died to reach, died

to make, but that’s what they do best.  

oh, they are asking everyone to keep

an ear out for voices, and it is because

it is a terrifying thought to be all alone.

there have been no voices for centuries,

and she will probably lose her own, but

hope is a currency. money has always been

the most important thing in the world, but

in front of this glass, it doesn’t feel like it.

the void calls, a bejewelled anglerfish

swallowing everything whole. it is very

seductive about it, and it is very calming.

anything beautiful is either scared or

non-sentient, and she knows this because

it is the last word she ever heard.

they say they want her to love and live

on the edge of a black hole, and she is so

in love with the idea that she might fall

over into that weeping, uncharted territory.

she wants a comet to burn through her

but most days the world is spellbinding,

and that will never be enough but

it makes sure she will never stop looking.