dear moon,
so it's been said
that ' great minds
think alike '
i guess it's
only fair
that we destroy
ourselves in an
equivalent approach
pen in palm
thoughts in head
words on the
summit of
our tongues
never making
that leap
into note
always leaving
the bitter
aftertaste of regret
' all those things
we should've said ' —
but chose to write
to no-one instead
passing through
the days
captioning each
waking moment
with subtitles
starring in our
own personal
silent film
hearts on our sleeves
lungs; black and wilting
writing away the last
of the decline
one poem at a time
if minds think alike
then i guess it's only right
that we make
our escape together
through silence and rage
we've ever written
plastered across our
motionless face
