Sometimes even ugly things can look like Morning Star underneath the waning moonlight, and she said that she would never leave me, except with a note that says razorrazorrazor cutting deep even through these mudstained jeans. Her eyes were oceans with no memory, too overrated for heaven & I could almost see those angel wings coming through those paper-thin shoulders, the ones with scars (we're all falling, she laughed, star to lonely star).

And in the universe it's just me and her, two nebulas (fading), and I asked do you think earth has life and nowhere else? That would be an awful waste of space, she whispered between the burning end of a midnight cigarette, and then where would our hearts fly to? But there's too much of you and not enough me; one day, maybe, she'll use those angel wings to soar, and we'd both be burning bright.

(if only for a moment's bittersweet gasp)