The crystalline drip-drops
of sun and stars
hang in the air
like birds who've lost the will to fly.
(It's not like they have any other place to be.)
Is the Earth turning
or are we?
Trapped in an endless cycle
(rinse, wash, repeat)
of sad and joy,
Forgetting to live because
we fear losing
to even get
(when will you realize you are the only player?)
And we are a generation living
Poisoned by the concrete sky weighing on our bones.
The rain we deluded ourselves into feeling
was never quite there to begin with.
And like an intergalactic nightlight,
the moon guides me to the end of this world.