Hey Diddle Diddle

The moon is slung low in the sky. She sits, unmoving, with a glass half empty smile. Her yellowish glow does nothing to soothe my troubled mind. I implore her to tell me her secrets. Tell me who, of the billions of people in this world, is thinking the same thing that I am. Make me believe these thoughts are common. I twirl the toothpick from the bar in my hands. Give up your secrets moon because I need to know. I pass the place where I once faced death. I steel myself againgst the memory. It does no good. The tooth pick falls from my mouth to the dark below. I search but I cannot find it. I think, why me? The good and the bad. I ask the moon and recieve no response. I come to no conclusion.