I let my eyes stray and all I ever saw was blimps of lights in every which direction. Sometimes few hundred feet above my head, sometimes really far off.
Blinking in yellows and reds and bright whites, and blinking to their hearts content.
Noisy metallic marvels that are clouding my skies, crowding my clouds. Blipping in the air, masquerading as a star system.
Oft I'd stare and wonder for hours, is this shiny blip moving, or is it a star I've discovered—and I'd feel like it's been hours, but then a fraction of an atom, and it'd blip and steer, and imagine my (I always knew it) disappointment. I'd look the other way, and ther'd be three dots forming a drunk illuminati, flying every which where.
The sky is full of them, and sometimes they fall. And they fall and fall, and we fly on them, cuz like we've an option.
But what of my skies? My non existent skyline that's a breather during this changed weather nights!
The skies are shiny, and I've spotted a many stars and obvious Venus bright planets. But the dots, blinking like phantom alien eyes, studded on an iron clad, robotic whale bird., buzzing with flies. Flies in its stomach, strapped to chairs. And buzz buzz here, and buzz buzz there.
Air traffic is out of control. If I had to fly up straight, I'd probably bump into some aircraft. It's impossible being a super hero of the skies here, unless I were a flying juggernaut; in which case I'd just not care.
But God, imagine if they were to fall over my roof, like Walter white's poolside mess..wtf then? It's a mess alright, up in the air though, and even beyond in the shallow shores of space..junk and junk and discarded metals and cloth and everything that is a scientific miracle on its own.
All that science to make all that junk..but every part of that junk was a star for a moment..but now it floats.
So look up at the skies for a star and don't get misled by stray lights, kids.
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