What is the rope that tethers me to this orb
hurtling through space in the dark moments
of the night that breeds existential crises?
No ignorance of the abyss
that is acknowledgment of pure chance
acting on what used to be will.
Alone,
in the quietest moments
my mind is the loudest
screaming that it can feel
reality thinning,
the ties loosening.
At any moment the tapestry could fray
leaving a chaos of meaningless threads.
Any moment the world will agree
that I am pointless,
driven by happenstance,
and release me from gravity
Into nothingness.
So I must lay perfectly still,
make no error,
and pray the stars don’t notice.
The Proud Dandelion 