Wayward

The outsider.
The rogue planet.
The one who stands alone
At the cusp of each spectrum,
fading to black,
There shall it be–
the comfort so many find in the light
that I can’t help but shun my eyes from.
Here one day,
Gone the next;
Gravity spewing you into the corner of an abyss,
a perennial wallflower
giving way to the seasons of their concupiscence
Leaving you broken,
desolate;
As you begin your never ending journey into the center
Where you’ve placed every hope,
every dream;
Praying to a god you would die to find
That despite all odds you will make it.
A lonely wayward,
gaze fixed upon the stars,
knowing not which one to follow.

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