100 Words: Weightless (Poem)


the sort of thing that fire burns out
the way the sky falls
with a hundred thousand stars
her words are all fucked up
and out of order
the way they’ve always been
with him talking in the back room
her talking back in the back room
and the fireflies just outside,
all waiting to be caught in jars
and kept as solitary points of light
against the dark
that wants to swallow him whole
and leave him alone
in the worst of the void,
and without anything to hold to,
drifting off into the sky.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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