In the eyes of a Sphinx

Threatening the horizon, the blood moon talking to the star, calming it down.

The stars sending messages, painted the sky in rainbow slide where dogs go hide.

The moon so distant, picking up the dust, it is a command to float. The brink of the abyss lay on the road.

Could it be death, could it be adrenaline?

Balancing through an immeasurable chasm, is this a kill or could this be a skill?

Lost for sunset and sunrise, the thoughts of the moon floats in space and time.



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