they've told me multiple times
that you're nothing more than
side effects of my speculations,
but even if so, i'll lie.

though my hours are counted
ticking until I count again
you know better than anyone
that it's nothing more than true.

and if said not, I dare you to watch,
not see, to observe, not look,
at a starry sky with starry eyes
then look into mine and say it's finite.

or maybe it comes down to the fact
that everything's become far too cold,
and who are you to argue as I watch
as it chills me to the core?

now, finity has become my worst nightmare,
even outside my own boundaries,
for there's so much I can live
until I have to be alive.

and maybe, just maybe,
i'll be fine for now.
just make sure to fade away soon enough,
after all, I am nothing but finite.