It’s all the rage

Inbetween the bad luck babies and morphine mothers, there lies me,

 two extremes in a constant motion pulling to its origin.

 I’m the thing that enters the universe after a supernova, 

the death of something bright only makes it all brighter, 

at least for a few minutes. 

I’m the party when the peak becomes boring

 and the rock in your side when you inevitably fall down the stairs trying to leave. 

I’m the points of contact, the nodes in a net, 

the center, the sides, and the fall.

 But what are you?

 Yes you, reading this right now

What are you? 

In time, you will forget I ever asked, 

and you will forget what first came to your mind, 

which is fine.

 I never intended my work to be remembered. 

But what you are remains. 

The warped wood of an old guitar, 

the noise of air colliding with air,

 the faint smell of knowledge that hangs when you figure it all out. 

A sweet smell, but a tangy finish 

Become all of it, and breathe in the satisfaction