XI.XIX - IX.XIII

I was born a star and raised to be dark matter.
Love the black holes from which I am close.
Glitched and out of touch, expansive dust.
Vastness and void of life, of a tender body.
Orbiting the world like the infinite ouroboros.
Soundless and void of pain, of confused cries.
Collecting trinkets from the human race.

I will not die a sun; I will pinball around space.
Loathe the atoms and their mutant creations.
Ached and astral, fourth-dimensional portals.
Emotionless and starved of flesh, of a fond heart.
Charting planets for inklings of explanations.
Homeless and starved of faith, of helpless hope.
Resting between a something and all nothings.