Awkward astronomer-lover.
Your nebulae concept:
The universe drawing together,
A delighted animation.
We ruefully laughed onshore,
That profound abstruse oxygen.
Their unappetizing myopia,
Misguided eye sockets.

I understand now when they say he spoke with a silver tongue. His words flowed from his lips like beads of mercury, mesmerizingly beautiful, but toxic nonetheless.

Who are we really?

We're all human beings on the outside, covered in flesh and filled with blood

But beyond that,

                                       Who are we really?

Are we good?
What is good?

Are we bad?
What is bad?

We're living, but are we actually a l i v e ?
What does alive mean, actually?

We're all breathing,
But what does that mean?

Deep down, inside
                                             Who are we really?

death whispers my name
and I whisper back
without fear