Stars of the World

Messy hair over spilled tea

slamming my head

onto the blanketed table

as the spider on my shoulder

shakes its head until it dies

while questioning with a webbed mouth

"why do you look outside?"

but the window is a mirror at night

I see myself and I see the world

I see the stars falling onto me

Fattening my heart with junk words

like vomiting speech bubbles

as the snow are now leaves

as the flow cannot leave

from my life as a leaf

a webbed leaf

the artistic impression of the spider

by the mirror window

it crawls into my nostrils

and I breathe the webbed life

On the day I grow eight legs

the aliens will lick my shoes

they will live in my cobweb

and I will bow to them

because spiders are future aliens

so just let me breathe

after spilling some of my tea

a goodbye to passing time

over a blanketed table

and a spider exits my throat.

Death of the Sun

So this is the night,
a pitch-black space with stars ahead
as the city rises when I sleep
the country, like faraway galaxies
blink, bling-bling, ultimately boring
as the aliens wander in the dark
these two-eyed, one-brained creatures
crawling through space and time
brightening the night
with a blight tonight

And this is the bleakness of life
when the night becomes white
or grey, or so colourless
that blood loses its red
as the aliens bathe their spirits
with the ghosts of themselves
as I stay bedridden
watching the world twist and turn
a white light pierced through the window
it's hope, guardian of eternal sleep

And the aliens, they weep
their blood, through the window it seeps
as they scream for sweet little hope
just a bit more hope
just a bit more...
but a wave of fire consumes the world
a light source not from the sun
as artificial as the machines in them
as they combust into ashes of hope
and this is the end of the world.