Cosmic Love Song

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,

cross dimensions, in search

of alternative sources of food.

Meantime, meteorites provide sustenance.
(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.