Obsidian

Melancholy fields of thin fingers,
sustain Mother Nature's sense of touch.
Stars die above us, a supernova symphony,
listen to them fade, listen to them end.
Something today died inside,
but only the stars could see.
That the fear inside,
created a tomb in me.
Asphyxiate the Amygdala,
let it turn blue.
Kill the parasitic fear,
that dwells within you.
As the stars die in time,
I will as well.
But they know my secrets,
but I'm not worried,
because the dead will never tell.