We are not made of stars, I don't know why you told me that
Would it have made a difference if we were?
To be flaming ***** of combusted gas
Temperate and voatile
Already, that's how we exist...
So would it really have changed us?
(I think not)
Do you really think of me that way?
Combustible...unpredictable in every way
(Possibly not even there anymore)
Radiating your world from far away
So far...
You wouldn't notice if I disappeared
Do you truly think we're made of stars?
(It's not as romantic as you think)
Honestly, I view us more as a sunset
If we're going to talk atmosphere
The pinkish kind that melts and blends
Into the dark bruise of night sky
We mix and evolve into something atramentous
Something tantalizingly morbid
But our morbidity shall not keep
Us from living free and happy
Because, eventually, the sun rises
And brightens our venomous palors
Sweetens the berries of our tender youth
(Though not so young anymore)

You never say the right things anymore
Lucky you.
You have me.
(And I'll never let you go)
Star dust and all.