la lune m'aime plus que vous ne le fera jamais

i am so sick of 3 am,
that i can feel the existence of the clocks adorning my bedroom walls mocking me.

tick tock, you’ll never get over it.

so i don’t.

i can feel the miles closing in around my throat.

i can feel your disdain against my very entity,
and I wish nothing more than for a lack thereof.

it is 3 am and i want to undress the moon, and fill her craters with stars.

fill her with every star I’ve wished upon, craft her out of 11:11 wishes,
out of prayers in vain.

maybe then, the moon will love me, as much as you claimed you did.