Venus and Jupiter Conjunction: Planets to almost touch in night sky
we are supposed to be the gods of this story.
the only problem is that i don't know the first thing about lightning and you don't know the first thing about love, so we end up in this tepid middleground between apotheosis and apostasy instead.
[make me a paragon, on my terms. a saint, but my body was never yours to burn. press the kiss of death to my lips and i will fall even more in love with myself. isn't it kind of pointless to evangelize me? isn't there always some sense of non-consent in disenchantment?}
we are not the gods of this story.
i know this because you run off my roof like a rainstorm and i keep the scent of our death-marked-love lodged between my teeth, a sacrifice snatched from a burning altar.
everything i've ever loved has left me, burning the same dogshit promises like barbecued birds in their funeral pyre mouths, all charred feathers and maimed incense tumbling up their throats. someone will love you in all you are and i promise it can never be me.
i contemplate what it'd be like to unleash a hellstorm of dopamine and oxytocin on everyone who ever abandoned me but that just sounds a little too tiring so i settle for mortality instead.
a news article from 2022 reads "Venus and Jupiter Conjunction: Planets to almost touch in night sky,"
wouldn't you love to be that holy, you ask. so alluring in our failure that everyone gathers around to watch us almost-touch?
i look up at the sky and shake my head.
no. i wouldn't trade our sin for the world.
how's that for apotheosis? you immortalize me on mondays and wednesdays and during business hours and every other weekend when all my half-truths cave in on each other. how much longer before pathology swallows our pride for us and leaves us both tangled in misgiving?
we are not gods, you whisper.
and i reply, we were never meant to be.
we can barely even handle being human.
[@nosebleedclub, march prompt #1, Venus and Jupiter]