i don't have my heart anymore
in the darkness of night...................................
🌚
he came like a moon and hid the moonlight
he was a moon not,a moonlight thief............................
🌚🌚
the moonlight was so naive giving the moon its heart
just in single meeting................................
🌚🌚🌚
moonlight no longer has a heart
but, waiting for the moon is still pending..............................
🌚🌚🌚🌚
the moon was lost in the sky
thus the moonlight was forgotten and forgotten............................
🌚🌚🌚🌚🌚
maybe the moon wants to be hide on the sky
but the moonlight is still waiting for the moon................
WITHOUT HEART!!!

I

am

bottomless


this gaping
maw

place my heart
vacated

I am
devoid

and resonance has
deserted me

this is a lonely
place to be




inside myself


.

For many years
I've searched for you
For many years
I've wished for you
But many years
have come to pass
And to those years I say
I love you still

Whose heart is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite sad though.
It really is a tale of woe,
I watch her frown. I cry hello.

She gives her heart a shake,
And sobs until the tears make.
The only other sound's the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.

The heart is dull, empty and deep,
But she has promises to keep,
Until then, she shall not sleep.
She lies in bed with ducts that weep.

She rises from her bitter bed,
With thoughts of sadness in her head,
She idolizes being dead.
Facing the day with never ending dread.

I am a hymn, in a hidden drawer.
I'm just waiting to be found,
like my grandfather,
and his father
and the father
before
him.

But what if-    I am the broken shower rod,
the abandoned one?
the less-than important one?
I ask because I'm terrified
of losing more than just
myself .

Self commentary aside, are we not all
two halves of the same loaf of bread?
Destined to grow mold, or become hard and
bitter? Can we not see our own mortality until we
are truly and utterly faced with it?
I know it's just a maze.

And like my Father's son, I am a mouse looking
for cheese in the farthest corners, the deepest
pieces of my own existence.
But like cheese,
and like mice,
one day I will grow old, and wither away.

So brush the dust and burn the fur,
watch my skeleton grey.
Don't mind the mess
from the "accident."
I was never meant to stay.
No, I was never meant to stay at all.