they tell me that we’re made of stardust,
but i don’t feel like something so glorious.

i feel like the dark side of the moon,
like the space between worlds,
like the howling void,
and the empty cascade of dying suns.

i feel like silence,
like i’m screaming with no one to hear me.

red looks good on you my dear;
like sweat and sin upon your skin,
and things best not spoken of in polite company.