we've all done it
and it's okay to feel sad
so just curl up in a blanket
or listen to the beatles
and think about good things
or just let it all out
and rant to me
cause i'll be there to listen
even if i'm not there
you can still rant to me
cause eventually i'll hear it
and don't be sad about things that might not even happen
just keep in mind that things could change
for better and for worse
but i'm right here
so, the boy who cries alone at night
you're not alone
you're just crying
and it's okay
to just cry.

your face illuminated in the moonlight,
glowing, soft and gentle features—
who were you, i wonder?
the stars above us speckling the sky,
i lean on your side, pain in your eyes,
and through your hurt i realize,
you glance at me, afraid, unsure.
my heart is stricken, my mind, it aches;
the surroundings were no match to your beauty.
i draw my hand meekly to yours,
our fingertips touch, i begin to slow back,
you're scared now, drawing weary breaths,
yet you held my hand, and i felt so real.
closing my eyes, sinking deeper into your arms,
and letting the night encase us both,
the sky felt true and memories numb,
but i knew it was all a dream.

you defined my pain
and i'd be lying if wiped my tears and told myself
this lasts forever
my mind tricks me into thinking
i was worth something to you
because we all know, in the end,
my regrets will pile forevermore
and i can't say that
the words i speak have good intentions
everyone gives me hope that
i can be something more,
but i know
i mean nothing to the world

now read it from bottom to top.

always, in the start, it seems,
that we can't fall apart
scared, i'll keep it locked away
deep within my heart.

pretend that i am all okay,
that i was never crying.
pretend, beneath the jealousy,
my heart just keeps on lying.

maybe if the sun came out,
my courage would follow too
and i would have the strength to say
"sorry, but i love you"

but i am only dreaming
of things that cannot be.
the way i look at you,
you'll never look at me.

Intertwining vines between thin fingers,
ones which bear knives but adorn blossoms and bliss—
The once crafted petals pouring deep into carved wounds,
as crimson hues cascade, thorns threading every stitch

Whilst sewed beneath the seam, a poison I had dreaded so
which skewed my sharpened vision, my heart weakened to a woe
The stitch I sew is weak, although, must I dread when we're apart?
For the venom strikes within my veins and steals my somber heart.

The moon seemed strange that night;
even in depths of sky, washed out, deep,
sickly mundane, dreary, threadbare
You sigh, it's nothing new,
the clasp of a pathetic idolized painting
It all
continuously fades into background noise.

A distant light cuts through the window
A plane, maybe, branching off into night
seen once to be forgotten, perhaps a detail forged by your mind—
This reality you lust for through skewed vision,
you, the puppeteer,
are twisting your only perception.

The constant buzzing will only get louder
you choose to ignore the aches as it shrieks
It's panting, drooling, devouring you inside out
teaching you the coppery taste of blood—
Mundanity can't be the answer, right?

Perhaps it is in human nature
to aimlessly claw towards the clouds
Bright, unrealistic,
encaptivating,
obedient, fulfilling the hunger of need,
it can be what you will it,
far more enticing than any night sky

So you heave your broken body along,
even far after your bones have died.
After all,
everything was already fractured to begin with.

Ah, well...

Close the curtains,
you were once scared of the dark
The moon, tired, beaten to death
still gawked at, its lifeless body, cold
You observe its scars, the wounds caving deep,
breathing shallow and bitter,
leave it to rest
and dance around in a hypnotic, bittersweet picture

For yes, you and the moon are one and the same;
All of it,
everything,
entirely corpse.