The Black Hole Behind Me

by Ryan Walraven

A black hole trails behind me,

a dormant shadow from my past.

It smells of dust and empty spaces

and sounds like post movie silence. 

In its wake, all ruins are devoured,

the mess of my bedroom floor turned to carpet,

old books and papers gone dry.

Photos and posters turn blank,

like the last page of a book

which no one will ever read.

Its radiation pierces flesh,

seals old wounds with ultraviolet precision.

The event horizon swells around me,

a black envelope of air-conditioned space

where deep within some hint of memory still resides

never to be seen again.

© Ryan Walraven 2015

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