I screamed at the moon, just sat there and slang miscellaneous profanities its way. I cursed its eerie presence; its predisposition to somehow manage to burn me. It has always held me liable for its slow deterioration. But it is so **** beautiful and poetic that it just shhhh'd me, ever so politely. I used to breathe alongside the night in my sleep, and now I find it strenuous to doze off. I once found solace in the craters of the moon, but I cannot forgive it.