maybe I’ll write a poem.
the full moon tomorrow.
last week.
cutting off circulation to my brain.
can’t think.
only emote madness.
are you crying too?
go hide behind the silver lining that hides your tears.
your pain of getting your face walked on while having so much work to do.
who thinks about that?
saying you’re made out of cheese-
well that must be painful.
how ridiculous.
but they say I’m made out of sugar and spice and everything nice.
they’ve always been idiots no matter who they are.
you have to control the tides,
calm the soul,
drive people mad with desire, lust ,anxiety, and fear
when you’re full of yourself.
any other time that damned sun tries to steal your glory
by concealing some of your splendor
until once a month
you’re gone.
but not the sun.
you won’t catch that bitch hiding-
not coming up at all
so why would she do that to you
i’ll get that sun.

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