To the Stars

  • Sic Itur Ad Astra
  • ACT I

    Both stormy and luminous,
    the cuts on my arms are still caked in dried blood
    You feel sorry, your heart bleeds into mine
    with a bit of emerald dust and ruby red sunrises
    The Doctor is the Rose; I am the Flame

  • ACT II

    You are all marble, Plato, self-contained
    I am grotesque, decaying, Lilith-born
    My scars are trim poodles
    Whose slightly woolfish eyes just for you



    We will bleed a blazing cornucopia
    of yellow wattle sprigs
    Doctor, your heart is a gold mine
    and joyous as spring

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