Man in the moon

The quick grunt he made

was not near as satisfying

as the night he became me

and jumped off every bridge he could find.

Life is beautiful,

just like the fur i own, 

like the crystal i collect.

However sleeping with stones and fiber

ruins the last pale parts

of my sun carved skin.

This city is overwhelming,

like being fucked up on a tire swing, 

holding your breath whilst injecting

every word a liar has ever fork tongued 

into virginal ears. 

The last part of me

that remained virginal, 

jumped off the bridge with him

the night he became me.

And if anyone else knows

the horns my soul 

keeps honking, its him.

Ask him when you find him, 

if at the climax

of his impact

he found my secret soul 

in the core of the earth.

I used to jump on trampolines 

reaching for the moon, 

because I loved it.

When I realized

the moon was connected

to my own noose

I fell in love with the man in him, 

the thrill of his possible kills.

But the night the moon became me, 

it was morning as soon as we touched.