The night sky glows
from the glare of this human ant pile,
the scurry worry flurry
of movement with no purpose;
this fear of silence,
this dread of drowning in solitude.
Even the moon is afraid of stardust,
that it might illuminate her perceived imperfections.
For days in a row, she feigned a peaceful sleep of
acceptance
only to swallow her tears, her quiet heaving breaths
in the summery song of crickets
rubbing their legs together
in a semblance of warmth,
of emotion.
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