the moon is low today than how it usually is: full yet a void. I've been looking over and observing each phase standing here, feet glued to the same spot for days now. I spend my evenings alone on my terrace drinking in the blue charcoal sky; eyeing it carefully — trying to draw some sense, some pattern in the mirage. some days it serves as the toxin — just burning my insides enough; other days like a suffocating boundless veil — pushing through my skull. either way, it exerts a force enough to make me momentarily forget, to allow me to escape and I do. I sprint with my last breath, from my brain to somewhere around my thighs, crouching and hiding; holding onto myself like the miserable person I am, hoping to be saved.
