We’re an introverted species, not just naval gazing, not even looking beyond the borders of our skies, not in the least consumed by outer space. We have a moon, distant, far away with rocky planets, hardly habitable and left unexplored. Our skies are quiet. Just filthy. Just blue. Nothing and no one has bothered to visit from so far away. We are trapped within oceanic seas of space and time that cannot be traversed. So, we kill each other with diabolic fervor only to make love later on the beach with other friends. Our children have bloodied hands wringing with contagious rage by and by intergenerational wars inspired by unrequited humane love for the weak and unfriendly. Smile for the camera. Strip naked for spirits. Entangle yourself in lust and hate. Our brains no longer giddy for the panic of the stars. An exploded bomb, it reads. Our epitaph. Glittering ornaments in the night only tell the future that might stop bringing tears never before seen scrolling upon ancient parchment like the end of days. Nowadays. Tomorrow and then the next generation. That will never come. Our home, this home, our planet, was meant to be an origin story not a grave. Don’t stay addicted to love, then, lest it dissolve into hateful sweet temptations that fail us like never before. Have you seen the grown man so grown so lustful disguised in agony only to be left to die alone while others pass him by with angry fate?