The Moon Doesn’t Call, I Howl

The Moon Doesn’t Call, I Howl

They say the pen is mightier than the sword
but I’m sure that a quick jab to my rib cage would do ten thousand more than ten thousand pens

To speak is to heal
That’s what the doctors say
But my words are question marks
hanging on by pills and the promise of tomorrow

So, I look to the moon,
She knows what we don’t
But every night is still a light year away and I am tired of waiting

These ribs can’t be stuffed and sealed back up
There’s not enough ink to draw it in
Not enough thread to sew my words into a straight line

The moon doesn’t care
She’s just dead volcanoes and craters
or something else I can’t understand
Like my rib cage and this hole that I’m trying to fix with an empty pen and some leftover words