stars for kins

I don't need your dishwater to cleanse my soot-streaked face. Heaven's tears suffice, trickling like antidote, washing the dark paint away to your silent dismay. I don't need your standing ovation to honor my own royal lineage. Achievements are mere echoes, mere shockwaves in this life we live as revolutionaries. Stars regard us as kindred, and so I bid you well— may you do the same.