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Is It Infinite
The house is cold.
Your whispers echo off these shattered walls.
Drunken truths still fill the air.
Conversations pointing fingers.
Air is thick as the TV flickers to kill the pin drop.
Alone pondering on how much space one needs.
Is it infinite?
What I thought forever was is not infinite to me.
It holds confusion.
Space is more gentle on the heart than love.
It cares not for hurt feelings, lies devised for the victim role.
Only light and dark matter.
Chaos brings these two together.
Same story as our own.
Unique as each star.
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