Tragedy in the Stars: Cosmic Reflections

Who would’ve thought that losing resolve was such a lucrative, sought-after muse?
Because true tragedy talks volumes, but the channels on mute.
Channeling through galaxies, having to move supernovas with raw passion.
Any intuition is an intuitive loss.
So superfluous, the way it happens; a dying sun sparks creative patterns.
Tiresome survival at the cost of my madness.
There’s such an interstellar sting to the inner, selfless kid that
Finds himself on the brink of that trigger of a dwelling sink.
There’s a dimmer from the lighthouse miles away,
But there’s a vignette at the end of the tunnel that I wish I could explain.
Emotions bruised could consume you, in all.
Alive, but numb in the same extraction.
Elapsed time expands in this black hole’s chain reaction.
I blame my sadness, a loophole of unfinished business.
I love kisses when the sun’s dimming.
So dense, the fumes from the smog allude to the fact that it’s useless;
Come on. I came through from the fog, face to face with confusion.
Help. My supercomputer doesn’t understand how to do this.
Interpret binary as separate emotions.
Let the stars explode so I can say I felt the explosion.
Let the radiation mutate what’s wrong with me,
To reshape the relay of this indistinct prophecy.
Instead? It’s controlling, extending its console;
For a better understanding of a severed lover’s hand.
Came up empty-handed; the stars in the sky have become so unenchanting.
People who know me don’t even try to get it.
Too depressed to write from my perspective.
Alive, but dead. Don’t prescribe the meds.
I wish I wasn’t allowed to blink, so
I wouldn’t lose moments and still heard the sounds of them:
Like, what’s the point of sadness when nothing comes out of it?
A briefcase full of to-do lists with nothing to do.