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
15th July 2024
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