Hypereal Universe

December 2025

 My father’s jacket ,
I wear it to fight, 
and it still smells like escape.  
You never understood how devotion could burn clean,  
how a seer learns to hide  
among the misfits,  
among the broken.
Ask me anything,  
if you still love me?
Say it loud enough to rupture the air.  
You were always electric,  
a spark lit too close to my skin.  
A cosmos that still burns. 
I am the moon mistress, in orbit,  
You are inaccessible. 
But I ache for gravity.
I love all the impossible things about you.  
I should stay here,  
but you take me somewhere that hums like the Pantheon,  
where ghosts dance beneath strobe light halos.  
You’re lying to yourself
glass full of dreams
you think you don’t need me. 
You’ve burned me,
and I want to feel safe. 
“You can sink into it. 
Feel the gravity
let go. 
Who cares if mistakes are made?”
I found grace in what you gave me,
the way you turned my pulse into prophecy.  
Now I move through hyperreality,  
refusing to be anyone’s.