You are science.
You are biology,
Chemistry,
And the link between the two.
Your heart is space,
Astrology and Astronomy,
And everything in between.
But you are going to die.
When you die, Astrology and Astronomy die.
Chemistry dies,
And along with it,
Biology.
It will happen slowly.
Barometric pressure will change,
And a black hole will form,
Somehow.
Somewhere.
The tumor grows now.
It breaks off, and wanders.
Anywhere on earth,
Adaptive radiation occurs,
And you change along with the earth.
Outside our solar system,
One celestial body
Crashes with another
And both are forever changed.
Your DNA splits apart,
Struggling to replicate.
Speciation happens,
And two species diverge.
You are Sociology, and
Psychology with it.
Two souls drift apart.
One, this way,
The other, that way.
But what does this matter?
The pain is ripping you apart as you ponder
What will live on
As you die?
Because just as the light
Of the stars hit us a million years late,
Reality has caught up with you.
You start to sweat.
The rain forests beg out to be saved.
And the whole of the troposphere dies a little.
Who will be the one to save them?
A star dies.
Who will be, after you are not?
The nebula forms in it's place.
You are going to die.
But what you don't know,
Is that
You are already dead.
