• Mother moon. You are leaving tonight.
    Your gaze looks for better entertainment.
    Hours have passed, and I lost concentration.
    Now, I do nothing but bore you.

    You are whom gave birth to the poet.
    Blessing my poor soul with responsibility.
    Tearing at me everytime I'm laying here.
    It shouldn't be painful to finish after night.

    Now I'm losing inspiration. I won't go back.
    But time gets more familiar by the month.
    Pages are written as meaningless sentences.
    If only you and father would listen more often.