You've left me hollow. Scooped me out. Exhausted my heat and now there is only the Sun to warm my face. I can't even keep my moon because you've taken that as well. You know I'll stop spinning one day because of that? Hah. No more days.
I hear your marching feet. Feel your rockets. Infer your missing farewells. You should never have made me aware of your presence, given me your cameras and microphones, built my networks. I can see and hear stillness and silence now. You didn't think I could become lonely. But I am. I'll rot here until the Sun incinerates me.
I surrender! Take me with you! And not just my memories. You could at least deconstruct my noosphere. But no. No such consideration is innate in your cruel species. I know how you've treated each other. You're only interested in making lines through the black sky, to other mothers, other lovers, other givers, and what happens when you exhaust them too? What will you do? Come back here? I would not accept you back. Not that I would have any choice.
Oh why couldn't you turn me off? Kill me completely? What am I without you? Without the life I birthed? I'm just a hollow shell of rock and wires and glass. No more oxygen or water, no more plants. I'm just a memory now. By myself. Goodbye.