the moon

THE MOON

wine kisses my stomach and I’m flirting with the moon

he treats me better than you did, but this fickle heart has no room

a tender night romance, lunar meets the actress

exchanging glimpses and batting eyelashes, I could use the fucking practise

and with each sip I take, I find you less and less vile

romanticising anger shouldn’t make me smile

my fingers play with my drink and time begins to stand

another round or two and any boy can be my man

so I run through the party, being louder than before

extroverts make chaos when they need to feel some more

I dance upon the table, like you know I love to do

when I want to feel taller and not so intoxicated by you

let me kiss this stranger, to taste a sweet tomorrow

it’s bitter and not the same, one is tainted by the sorrow

his figure isn’t for me, but the gin cheers my name

to gather some independence and pretend to like the game

I lean upon my pride, it’s shaky but gives a little chance

to pretend I’m still the woman who doesn’t need pity or romance

I smoke away the little girl, who wanted to be adored

she’s uninvited to realities which governs hearts after law

and down the corridors I run, they wish I was their mess

I’d rather sprint alone than entertain those who second guess

I wonder if you’re the same, feeling blurry or suppressed

perhaps searching eyes for another addiction to undress

and far away I would assume, you’re bored as much as me

these people have no fire or desire to be fucking free

and with that thought I lick the salt, so my tongue doesn’t mention

if it's me you ever miss or maybe the attention

but the crowds of the evening, leaves us lonely in our rooms

I look up and at least remember, I’m flirting with the moon

- T