The Moon

When the dogs you’ve been feeding

Finally start to circle you for more meat

Collective conniptions won’t

Stop then from hunting you.

And with your back pressed against the wall,

You tell them all,

“Look, I am so sorry; it’s not you, it’s me.

I am the victim here.”

But the dogs, they don’t care,

They just want their carnivorous desires fulfilled

You led them on with your perverse delights

And left them all craving more.

They all wanted you for what you offered.

But each offering was the opposite of intimate.

They’ll tear at your flesh as you scream your apologies,

Claiming love for each and every mongrel;

But the lies flicking from your sensual lips

Won’t settle them down, won’t pacify them,

They’re already left with their rabid tastes

And now they want you gone.

Under a soft, careless moon,

Beaming with indifference, enough to see,

You can watch as the lives you played with

Dissect you and break you down to nothing.

And there you will lie, with lunar delicacy,

Ashamed,

Alone,

Unwanted,

Deserved,

Regretted,

Pitiless,

All because you couldn’t keep from playing with the dogs.