(prompt used “when the moon moves out of sight”)
Caught in the crossfire of a battle I could never win.
Blasted by the shrapnel of lies and deceit, the pieces of my heart now lie at my feet.
By nightfall, I find myself thrust into melancholy madness.
I pick up the pieces of my heart as I attempt to heal the pain.
But I have nothing left to hold the shards or make my heart whole again.
When the moon moves out of sight, I implore it to return, thinking its light is the cure I need.
The moon pays no heed to my cries.
And my broken heart dies.
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