Sep 27, 2021

Everything but the Moon

A bitter remedy from my Moon-scented memory
Seethes in the Sun of their psycho-reality,
Killing the meekness of my dawn
Tearing apart the fawns named after you. So,
Hear their putrid cries and glazed lies
Ever so decadently electrified from the inside,
Meticulously purified from guilt
And tell me how the tower will crumble –
Divinely, suddenly or not at all?
Once they fall / if they fall,
No one will want to know, because
Everyone will gloat in their own mud, alone.

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