Standing alone on a clear night, outside of London, where the sky is black and inky as oppose to dirty-brown looking I looked up at the sky and thought. Thought, and thought. Just thought. It’s not often enough we as an urban species do that anymore and I honestly think our dirty, polluted sky has something to do with it. We are gluing our eyes to screens, to moving pictures, from our desks to our pockets and back again without looking up.
On this particular night outside the city, I looked up.
Glaring down in my eyes.
Tonight I can barely comprehend I’m alive.
Space, so vast, is weighing down on our heads.
Such a weight as that,
I can’t believe we’re not dead,
The stars and the sky are pressing down,
The dusk and the dawn are nowhere around
And I can’t feel the heat, I can’t feel the cold
I can’t feel my feet and the ground they hold,
I can’t feel my hands on the end of my arms and
I don’t feel angry, I don’t feel calm,
I can’t feel my heart or the turn of the earth,
I just feel the darkness extending on past
The whisps of vapor and the souls of the stars,
The warmth of the atmosphere,
The cold of Mars,
And all that we know
And all that we’ve seen
Becomes nothing more than a fucked-up dream
In that dead-weight above