There are bodies in the sky,
And yet we have the nerve to
worship our own gods,
Hand-crafted,
Beings we cannot see.

We are stardust,
They are out being,
Yet we forget them,
And make ourselves so big.

Blood, pounding through our veins,
Never meant to leave,
I carve promises on my skin,
I engrave myself in memories and
tear my clothes,
Tear my skin,
As I fall into an inferno of ugliness
and sin.

Cigarettes **** - and I'd be disappointed if they didn't,
I listen while the oppressors say they are oppressed,
While we die because we are faceless,
Slaves to what they desire;
I think that maybe we are stardust,
But maybe we aren't but  punished dust,
Forced to breathe and live
and love as we see fit,
Forgetting the stars.

© A Tripp