Losing Luna

We are children that tiptoe through social conventions
Shouting obscenities unto the void
We are the wasted youth that sleeps
On unmade beds that we conquered
And unkept blankets that we drown

We are the butt of a cigarette
The bottom of a bottle of wine
Whispering that love stay
Amidst infidelities screaming
Their perfect cataclysmic affair

We are your last kiss
That curves into the faintest of smiles
Saying goodnight
As the tide recedes
Losing Luna in sight


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