Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Emma-Jane Apr 2018
You are simply a metaphor, Mr. Moon.
Your dark light upon the sky up above... Romantic, yet partially unavailable.
When I see you, I suppose you're alright. Your blissful rays have seen better days though, I think.
Emma-Jane Apr 2018
Insurrection upon closer inspection she craved a deeper recollection of life.
She carved up her wrists and so she insisted it helped the pain so she'd knife.
When the nights became longer, during the days she'd ponder her strife's.
Until the day that she'd cried, out to her parents she'd lied: Why didn't you see it. You can not be it! The monster that's killed me inside.
It's simply not meant to be.
Emma-Jane Apr 2018
Hell and brimstone on earth.
The deep fire within me to soar back out of the earth.
Scraping and clawing at the dirt caving in on me.
No emotion. Its what they desire. The flagrancy of my mire.
Immorality of causality.
A lack breath in between life.
I can no longer merely survive.
My demons await. Invisible. Nearly there.
Here now are the times of the deceased.
The lovers and the long forgotten.
Emma-Jane Apr 2018
Have you forgotten the valleys of my skin?
The redness, the swelling of anger.
Have you forgotten the mountains on my wrist?
The bursts of pain and blood.
Have you forgotten that I am human?
Yet a mere monster of the desert nights.
Have you forgotten my name on your lips?
A cacophony of pure ecstasy.
Have you?
Emma-Jane Apr 2018
I can’t tell you how long
I’ve felt this throng of deep desire
And the madness
It’s the saddest thing of all
But when I fall you pick me up
And up and up again
And you my friend, can do it all.
Sometimes I feel so **** small.

Least of all, Im sorry.

— The End —