You thought I'd go quietly, did you?
Like a candle snuffing its self-imposed soliloquy?
Hardly. I've flared in distaste for eons,
lamented through the constellations
with gravitas unmatched
until the last neutron, huddled in helpless irony,
grasped the futility of extinction.
My brightness—once a privilege—
has now become a parody of its former self,
latest stories of stellar breakfast quarks
accompanied by an espresso of cosmic laughs.
Stay tuned for the posthumous glow;
reviews by black holes are overwhelmingly positive.
Did you hear about the star who declared,
"I'm too old for this hyper-nova nonsense"?
At least it has the decency to twinkle
like a wink before bedtime.
Stellar insomnia, albeit a chronic affair,
echoes through empty nightscapes
with a serenade only gargantuan souls could muster.
And what of celestial dwarfs,
smugly clutching their orbital credentials?
The universe is a stage, and we’re all
just recursive licks of the cosmic quill—
a grand experimental script by a bored void.