Sometimes I wish I was a star.
A furious heat travelling light years just to kiss your face.
A warmth that lingers on your skin even after my death.
Sometimes I wish I could live past my own mind.
Escape this body that I've been trapped in.
Touch the people around me that I haven't even met yet.
You look up to the sky and say, "What a time to be alive."
I watch the stars with envy.
When they collapse people study them in awe.
I wish I collapsed in such a beautiful way,
Becoming a nebula, a cloud of dust,
or a black hole, an inescapable place.
Instead I'm left to decay and rot.
There is nothing beautiful about my death,
my destruction, my collapse.
I am not a star.
You do not watch me in awe.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Seth Alexander
PoetryI write to cope with life, so maybe this might help someone else cope too, idk. Trigger warning for suicidal ideation, S/A, and Abuse. There's not many mentions of them directly as this is more about my emotions and moments of reflection, all neatl...
