Supernova

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You were born in the stars
(but it doesn't help you find deliverance) 
Their sky, it's brilliance
it's grandeur.
They tell you
you're destined to find
a way up there.
But all it does is 
inflane that same, dull 
ache.

The galaxies, they remind you 
of deprivation. 
They have stolen everything
away from you.
You were left alone with 
desolate angry mothers
and 
you were left to rot 
and ruin in the tangerine
badlands.
Your dreams, they're 
nothing celestial. 
You leave cracks in the echoes of
your footprints.
You find stale stardust in your parched throat.
Your eyes, they're stagnant pools. 
They used to say you would 
be golden, like the sun
but they forgot to mention
pain and
fire and
blinding light.
 

There's a routine in these things, 
these chronic tragedies.
When will you escape this extraneous planet?
When will this island universe find you another home?

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