La Lune

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Mind Matter / Shorts / White

How tragic is it that I am one with the moon.
How tragic that he pulls me so–
easily.

Is it cause for worry,
that the glum of the world–
I consume?

Is that reason enough to blame my–
relation to his moon?

Is it my mind that wanes,
when the moon fills out,
the shadows it has left,
those shadows of doubt?

When the clouds get heavy,
my being stands still,
as it awaits the forthcoming,
of the break in my will.

And when those dark clouds,
they finally give in;
it rains in me heavy,
and leaks through my skin.

Is it a surprise,
that when the darkness descends,
my world falls inward,
and I’ve no way to pretend,
that the world is okay,
and I’m living fine within it,
that the people around me,
are all good, without sin?

I cannot breathe,
some days, when I wake.
I cannot breathe,
for I see how fake,
all the people around me,
with all their plastic smiles,
covering grimaced faces,
are all living a lie.

I cannot breathe,
some days when I see,
I cannot breathe,
for it reveals to me;
all the ills of the world,
that I cannot heal,
though I try–
for me.

My moon,
draws feelings right into my being,
in a flux of emotions,
that seem to kill me.
And in this explosion,
of sensory bliss,
I find solace abundant,
though it be remiss.

The Author

22 . living large . hold on to your seats, ladies.

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