A tree falls in the forest.
It doesn’t make a sound.
I lie awake in deafening silence,
Festering in my filthy bedroom.
The half-moon watches from the window,
Like the glowing ghost of Earth.
Watching the decline of light from the shadows.
It can’t stop the darkness, nor can I.
I’m always in my bed, never in my body.
I’m the stains of futile tears.
I’m a silent scream in the empty air.
I’m a question nobody hears.
I’m a corpse in pajamas.
I’m the wearing on of years.
I live on the scarred surface
Of the bitter cold half-moon,
Watching the shadows crawl
Over everything, everything, soon.