In the pit of your stomach, it festers
Grow in the lungs, blocking breath that so desperately tries to get in
Spreads like mold
Will it be your fault when the moon falls?
Will it be mine?
It grows bigger now, much bigger
It’s rapid, inconsistent
Spasms, stretching
Will we see it when the moon falls?
Or will it be blocked from view?
Will we still feel it?
In the back of your mind
It’s there, happening
Will you scream out, letting it hang in the air?
Will I sew my mouth shut, like it never happened?
Is it your fault?
No, it can’t be your fault
It’s not
It’s mine, it has to be
So why do you still feel it fester?
Why do you still feel it blocks out breath?
Spreading like mold
So why is there guilt on your face?
It’s not your fault when the moon falls.