Somewhere. Always. The maw of gravity bites me like a bear trap. Burning and greedy; ensnared in vices of human existence. Soul against my ribcage. Pressing. Clamoring for an escape. These bones have become more than a catastrophe. For I use to wear constellations as crowns. When the nights were longer. Before the earth claimed me; and my soul had to make a home- beneath sticks and clay.
A deity of human origin


















