i don’t want to look up
since looking up allowed it to happen.
seeing it, allowing its beaming blue,
observing the flash it made in the night sky;
it killed us before it even came.
i wonder if it could’ve stopped,
if it was punishment for the time
i didn’t lend him my pencil.
not because i didn’t have one,
but because my pencil was too good for him
yet the more i think about it
i become grateful, for now the earth
has been granted purity,
a renaissance, a chance to be
born once again.
and as I feel my skin become dust
i burn bright like fire
and we all become stars,
decorating the night sky
or more precisely, space.