I scream at the sky. I know my voice merely tickles the universe. It has no strength to create ripples, like the ones you’d see in a little garden pond.

Unlike me and my puny little scream, the stars show off their existence through their burning souls. They merge with the beauty of the darkness, their home. They create the coldest warmth that I long for. Or is it the warmest cold?

The Sun is a volcanic dragon, spitting her embers and secrets away. Secrets that cannot reach me. Secrets that can’t be kept. Sun can’t hold her tears in any longer and my voice cannot reach her and reassure her. Sun, I want you to stay.

I sense laughter from a distant galaxy. Beautiful radiation, please stain me. If a supernova gets too close, I will let it tattoo my skin with impossible colours, that are too real to be on Earth.   

I want the stars and universe to scar me with their secrets and their lies. I wonder if they can see me: my wide, curious eyes gazing from a little window at night.

Moon looks like a pearl – raw and iridescent. I don’t think I’ll catch a supernova tonight, so Mr Moon I bid you goodnight.