Titans

I am haunted by my young history,

a spectral thing that follows me

until it finds my darker centre,

disappears down a swirling black hole

for a while, for a moment,

never forever.

At night, I see the ghosts:

swirling, dancing spirits;

a small spark, a resounding bang;

the fall, the fall, the fall.

It bounces off my walls

until the void opens up,

breathes, swallows.

It repeats, I am hollow.

And around me the ship creaks –

a funny thing –

bordering on so much death,

a hair’s breadth from the threat,

and yet,

I am more afraid of me.

An illusion hovers at my door,

a white memory fragment,

and I realise I can sum up my heart. Imagine –

white ice fear surrounded by oblivion.

I sit up in bed; darks swirls around my head.

Rubbing my eyes, I squint at my ghosts.

Is that…?

“Atara, what are you–”

The doorway blinks away the light,

reveals nothing but the dark of night.

I am dreaming, of course,

half-in, half-out of reality.

My black-hole heart closes up,

the dark world yawns,

and I fall.