Gone, gone, gone
Spaceflight as suicide,
as a way to undermine society.
It takes 5 minutes for sound to reach earth from mars.
I want to be dead/finally alive for 5 minutes without anyone knowing.
If a tree falls in a forest/if a girl rips her spacesuit.
What an absolutely terrifying paradox of ideas and human lives.
I left because I wanted to and you didn’t,
because I thought I wanted to be alone when all I really wanted
was to be wanted.
But none of this matters because I’m drowning
in my own love/in the bathtub
and you’re smoking on the balcony with my dead body for company.
Grave robbing in a church torn apart at the seams
because you could never bear to be alone.
Because ibuprofen doesn’t numb the pain anymore
so you’re pretty sure it comes from god.
Because you’ve been peeling away at yourself from birth
and you’ve never been this close
to anything resembling absolution/euphoria before.
Your stripmall religion can’t survive in the north
where everything gentle/radical is left for the wolves.
And someone once told you that freezing is better than worshiping a dead girl.
And even worse,
one who died in love.
God like the sun
and a girl deconstructed.
By Sophia Anderson
Sophia Anderson is a high school poet living on the west coast of Canada. She is 17 years old, an avid reader and in love with the sea and the stars. She draws inspiration from personal experience, dreams and her surroundings. She can be found at jailsongs.tumblr.com where she posts the majority of her written works.