Ugly Duckling Supernova

Are the puffs of clouds as aesthetically appealing as they
Appear to be, when printed out on 8×10 glossy paper —
It wasn’t dried yet and it smeared all over my hands,
My fingers now drenched in the ink of a supernova
From a quatrillion years ago, I guess
No one really knows anything about numbers once we
Apply them to things that have slumbered far longer
Than our tiny dusty brains have evolved and been awake,
What if our universe is really just the polluted drain of
A utopia that has abandoned us to our carbon emissions and
Solar radiation and an expanding abyss, into which the
Pitcher cast out a home run and our Solar System missed
The greatest play of all time,
Literally of all time, and now we are left with all of the
Trash, litter, hot dog rappers and plastic and rust
Dressing up our dirty dwellings and crimes we all fuss about
With no commitment to solutions which provide a meager way out
Shout out to the supernova I just smeared with my fist, who ran out
Just in time before things got out of hand

Poem from the Our Universe Is Dead Poetry Compilation by Brianna.

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