Watch Out For My Head

I don't even know. I just sort of let my fingers do the typing.

Pressure builds up in my head so indefinitely, the world is about to explode 

because I wish to remain closer to stardust, I am the timebomb that will make that so

The cavities of my brain and the upper half of my skull, all will become shrapnel

that will not so delicately, but oh so exquisitely shoot out in every direction 

However, direction is meaningless in space, and that is the beauty of space,

the nothingness controlling all with no laws, no reason or rationale, nor morals 

And so, the world is about to explode, all by my (head) hand, and I'm so totally alright 

with the so happening of people becoming creatures and place becoming nothing 

 

Author's Note

Feedback appreciated!