Just because she's a supernova,
does not mean she always was.
She was nothing,
a speck of dust on a clover.
Almost nonexistent.
She's been disturbed and unstable.
Shattered at her greatest depths.
Morphed into something unfamiliar to herself.
Now seemingly perfect.
And still, her pandemonium is far from over.
Sooner or later she will collapse and cave in.
And then nothing.
Not even a remnant of her grand beauty.
A black hole will fill the spaces.
With only faint memories that she ever existed.

When I think of the future,
I think of you.
Fiercely red, bold against my own neutral tones.
Your chiseled edges,
keep me from pure comfort.
You'll be the black sheep.
The muse to artistic eyes
Oh dear red brick,
be harsh,
be the chaos in my delicate life.

Cut open my palms.
And watch as the stars come pouring out.
They'll glimmer in the moonlight, just like they're shooting across the galaxy as they drip to my feet.
And gather in a puddle beneath me,
just like the Milky-way.
I'll make a wish upon them,
Thimble in hand.
For a land, where age has no meaning,
hearts have no bounds,
and never,
is an awfully long time.