I know I need to leave you,
But how does one split the moon?
How can you separate the dirt from the wind in a monsoon?
You were me and I was you. Always one. Never two.
The time will come soon,
The great divide of one of a kind.
A masterpiece awoken and burned alive.
Inside, it evokes a feeling much like peeling apart the bones of my spine.
Inevitably interrupting the design of my mind.
Disrupting the rhyme on the two and four.
Won’t cry, just gaze in my eyes- puffy and sore, one last time, before the pieces of the moon hit the floor.