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The moon ate my heart.
My vision was tainted.
I staggered forward, uncertain.
I heard something disappear.
I think—
I am myself.

I taste the hole in my chest.
The moon’s smile mocks me.
I know, I know
I am not myself—
I am merely a whisper
Of a husked heartbeat.

The Moon and My Heart Rebecca Beaver
Rebecca Beaver, 13
Tenafly, NJ