Happiness is something pure,
She says, furrowing her brow
Steadily sweeping the stardust from the bottom of her shoes
Bones like blades bursting through her milky translucent skin as if to scream
“Hello world, I’m here! Look at me.”
They clank and clutter the confines of her cage
A gentle burn to quench her thirst
The girl with the crescent moon tear

Friday night and her feet move slow
Trying to decide which direction to go
Looks to the sky then down to her hands
That fold into fists as she quietly stands
And sleep will be lonely
Her heart a strange tick
In darkness she dances
And breaks her last wick
Now nothing is lit and no one can see
Her sad secret shadow drag through the street
But morning will come
And on a day bright and clear
You’ll see her, the girl with the crescent moon tear