keep coming back— from the edge of black holes where light forgets its name, through the ash of gods who burned too bright, from the seventh veil where angels glitch and scream. Nothing cages me, no law, no star, no scripture’s lock; I orbit what I crave like neutron fire, pulling constellations into orbit round my ribs. I keep coming back— with nebulae for blood and quasar teeth, a pilgrim stripped of heaven, clutching galaxies like rosaries. Zeus can hurl his thunder, entropy can yawn— I laugh, remix the static, spit out brand-new worlds. My will’s a supernova hymn: amen in every atom, hallelujah carved in dark-matter script. I keep coming back— past Saturn’s rings that whisper doubt, past the void where doubt itself dissolves. Saints kneel at my shadow, devils dial my number, but the only voice I answer is the pulse between my thoughts. Philosophy? A comet tail I ride— Religion? Just a map I redraw every blink. I keep coming back— fanatical as dawn, unbound as gravity’s suicide. Tell me it’s impossible? I’ll fold the sentence, turn “no” into a wormhole, and surf the other side with halos in my pockets. Mind locked? Doorframe melts. Universe says wait? I start the next one early. I keep coming back— till time unthreads and myths forget their authors, till every law of physics signs my guestbook, till even silence begs to echo what I chant: If I set my mind on it— stars bow, prophets stutter, and the cosmos learns my name as the one who never left.
