I would rather call this piece a compilation of words than a poem, because I am not a poet. Therefore, this is not officially a poem. But who cares? Words are just words without a soul to give them their meaning.
Why Stars Die by misspee
Not surprised a bit that it will all go
down to this. You repeat the words and once
again, I listen to how it is my fault.
How it has always been my fault.
My ears are not meant to take
in daggers, nor has my heart been built of stone.
Do you think I do not bleed? How sure are you
when from the beginning, we have been
a million miles apart? Two colliding bodies of stars
keen on showering each other with sparks
of red and gold. Not wanting to be the last
to burn down and fall to the ground — a mere compilation
of pieces and torn paper. No. We are stars that collide
to create supernovas, forever
in danger of disappearing into a black hole.