Black Hole

I fell off the face of the earth
–it hurt.
Climactic as anything could be
I pick up the pieces gingerly
delicate egg shells
holding onto a being
haphazard and awake.
Bursting against gravity
and slowly succumbing
bent on imploding.
A star left to supernova–
I am the black hole
disguised in the aftershocks
unintentional hiding
biding time
before becoming me again.

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This entry was posted in Poetry.

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