This Is Not A Poem

Now things are different
Seasons changed into a new breed
senses consumed
The masochists are asleep in there beds
dreaming of fire and sandstone sub cultures for their mothers
on Valentines day.

No matter the situation
I seemed to have grown along with them,
grew apart from them
So tonight
I lay on my back emotions surpassed
Watching as supernovas are born and bred
by the hand of the kleptomaniac skys
Watching the clouds open their legs

Let be born a sun
A star
Another metaphor for some poet
To compare it to the feeling of what loneliness stands for
Mocking brilliance from the auras

So let die the stars
The super novas
Th kleptomaniac skys
So I can fall asleep to the sound of darkness looming
As comforting as a new born babe.