all the colors of the Moon   bluish, blackish, blue: in the eyes of a heart fractured and aching with the turn of a strange machine.   rise on a pillar of sand stardust sweeps by Your bruised face Your lip, cut by the jagged edge of a local supernova.   “hi”   my rib

i am afraid of holes. i googled what that meant, but She just looked at me with sad eyes.   “why do you wanna know?”   oh. that’s okay. my ligaments didn’t matter anyway. my muscles were temporary! (they grow back, you know.)   “naivete is a diagnosable condition” She said “you’re going to need