I look at the skies at night
and watch the stars die.
I imagine myself
an eater of worlds
not content with planets anymore.
Water and soil
make my stomach turn,
revolted by the constant
east-west revolution of orbs.
Even a god's taste buds have limits.
So I search the heavens,
So I search the heavens,
cross dimensions, in search
of alternative sources of food.
Meantime, meteorites provide sustenance.
(Heavenly bodies tidbits --
(Heavenly bodies tidbits --
flavor of the month.
Although, what month it is,
I don't know.
No moon left
to keep time with.)
Sometimes I get tired
of my quest.
Sometimes, I think
if it would not be better
to give up,
to stop moving,
to stop seeing,
to stop breathing,
and let my body float in space.
I imagine myself imagining
why I have become this way.
I know the reason why:
My heart is broken.
