I carry my pain on the tips of my fingers where touch finds me hiding.
The world is not grand.
It is a scared child lost in an inescapable cosmic force.
We spin with our lost galaxy that is turning for something larger than self.
I am afraid of tomorrow.
It haunts me in the small spaces
In the nooks and crannies made by lives not concerned with human space.
The ghosts of my future wait for me
Under the already burning things I won’t see until tomorrow.
Under a future destroyed before I’ve arrived.
I am afraid of a hundred tomorrows.
Because the world is not grand.
And all tomorrows are sand and ash.