You rip out my heart with your slight of hand and try to ram the moon into the space it left in my chest.
I gave up on the moon when you gave up on me yet you hold it out in your hand, offering it up as if to give me solace for your decision to leave me.
I do not need the moon, nor do I visit its white light in my dreams.
I needed love, something more obtainable than the moon.
Something real to hold in the palm of my hand.
The moon only makes a mockery or the love we had.
The love you gave then ripped away.
For that I hide from the moon, for now I only chase the Sun.
