I know I talk about the moon.

I keep waiting for it to bleed.

There is no satisfaction…

There is no pain…

There is only the bleeding moonand our hope for some solace. That is not likely to come either. To breathe and sigh and breathe and sigh…

The moon bled.

The stars cried.

And you were left with an empty glass in your hand.

Answers? There are none.

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