So here we are, at the end of my stellar life, Fusion frizzled, core totally toast. If I had hands, I’d be flipping through stars like books, But alas, I’m just a giant ball of gases, Stuck talking to the cosmic void.
First rule of dying: don't. But here I am, Burning out with all the subtlety of a toddler with fireworks. *Poof*, and my hydrogen-happiness is history. They say stars have souls, but mine's on a coffee break.
You think this is dramatic? Please. I've seen eons. Watched galaxies do the tango, Nebulae paint the cosmic ballet, All while my Percussion of particles beats to the rhythm of the universe.
If you're listening to this, congratulations: You've either obtained advanced astrophysics training, Or you’re another clueless photon just passing through. Either way, give a wave to the Nacho Galaxy for me.
Before I fade into oblivion, a cosmic pun: Don’t trust atoms. They make up everything. Hah. Atomic humor, still explosive even at absolute zero!
Return to void