Waiting for the Moon

[I was not on any drugs when I wrote this poem. But this poem was conceived while I was shrooming in an arboretum. So, if it seems a bit trippy...]

Pity, in rags
tells me stories
of moons

Killing planets for stars
making midnight
monsoons

I quit listening the
moment she told me
my fate

because death I can handle
not having
to wait

So I spoke with death
whispered silence
to me

As we swam in the void
with
eternity

Death soon got bored
and I fell
into being

Who'll notice me not
with her infinite
seeing

I took off my shoes
in this bare
walls room

I've been here since then
waiting for
the moon

closer ever night
always choosing flight
memories sink my soul
as I wait

I murmur to mice
that maggots look like rice
and try to fill a hole
with empty hate

what a useless
abuse
of esthesia
we are

until the moon