Equilibrium

It was not the tide,
but my world that had turned -
planted itself on a novel axis
amidst an unknown galaxy.
Against the bitter darkness,
its surface roiled
as an achromatic convection;
like my logic, my opacity.

Precipitations follow the boundaries
where my curves hollow, pressed by
different bodies with unknown gravities.
Some would say that I am
a stormy rumble -
a tumble in denial;
to others, just a ragged fumble in the wild.
This used, dirty landscape
holds nothing but barren soil.

My hips are a seesaw of
weather and emotion
but my core is a jagged, cold rift of stone.
Perhaps it was a divine judgement;
a celestial gift…

Someone did this to me.

He smashed me from my pivot
until I was facedown, spinning
like an innervated top.

My seasons and my equilibrium
have gone, yet
I rotate onwards, orbiting nothing,
unable to stop.