The moon
Unthreads
Its silk
Runs red
A crown
Of lead
Drops dead
The sky
Unwinds
Its gears
Decline
A rust
Design
Draws line
A clock
With wings
Breaks things
It sings
No rings
Just endings
My shadow
Splits
It sheds
Its wit
A serpent
Bit
Through it
A door
Of bone
Appears
Alone
It hums
A tone
Unknown
I step
Inside
The walls
Divide
A mask
I hide
Collides
A lantern
Bleeds
It leaks
Its seeds
They grow
In reeds
Of deeds
The mirror
Glows
It bends
My pose
It knows
The close
I chose
The past
Turns sand
It leaves
My hand
A ghost
I banned
Now stands
I burn
Its sign
I cut
Its vine
I claim
The spine
As mine
A spark
Of ink
Begins
To think
It draws
The brink
In pink
I rise
Through smoke
A sigil
Spoke
The old
Self broke
No joke
A new
Design
Rewrites
My line
I cross
The shrine
Divine