You wrap your arms around your waist as if to silence the doubts and pains in your belly, screaming louder than the creation of the universe.

Your eyes, once alive with the galaxies of far away universes glinting in the blacks of your pupils, seem dulled as if your sun is dulling rapidly.

It seems the rivers of silver running down your arms and legs, cut short and interrupted, have leeked out all the life left in you

I want to take your sense by the scuff of it's neck and tell it to crumble. Crack. Explode.

Scream your sorrows to the skies, the stars will understand, they once too we're young nebulas who imploded but now they guide the wanderers and guard the secrets the night keeps,

So crumble, "this is not your destruction, it is your birth"

I will pick up every piece of you from the cold ground and fix you with molten gold and silver, make you're exterior as precious to me as your soul and mend you forever.

I will soothe you and make you feel as precious as you are to me my little star