Full of great, but what is full

by Christos Polydorou

I’ve got your lipgloss on my lips and cheeks. It is a Sunday morning, and you are stuck between my teeth. But when I woke up it was in a single bed and you had been gone for half a year now. As a result I was filled with anger. I slammed kitchen cupboards like an asshole. Forgive me.

To err is human, to forgive is divine.

Help me.

Help me tame the monster in me. I want to be a dreamer. I want to be a lover. I want to be a star.

We came onto this planet grunting and growling, but with a third eye.

We were cast on a threshold between primitive and sublime.

We were given mortal hands to celebrate immortal gifts.

We broke porcelain tea cups and china saucers and bent all the tiny cutlery out of shape.

Pity us, Gods, cast in mortal coils.

Pity us, Gods, in ruins.

Let the strings swell. Play the violins for us. Bring a forty piece orchestra.

Sing us to sleep.

We are filled to the skin with starry nights and beyond them constellations.

We carried our creations across nations.

We invented fire. We invented electricity.

We invented TVs. We invented cars.

We wanted to know a tree of knowledge.

We wanted to know.

I want to know.

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