(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.

I think the Moon knows
I'm watching Her
Because sometimes,
                           She leaves me presents
It may sound silly
But I've got a jar full of Her secrets
That I keep in a lockbox under my bed
The pass code; Luna
So I'll praise Her title
Each time I uncover
The hidden gifts She's given to me

Purified droplets of moonlight.

The size of a jewel
The weight of a diamond
The glow of an angel
The shine of a star

The Moon probably knows
I'm watching Her
Because sometimes,
                            I find a drop
In the bud of a flower
Sometimes,
                  in the pit of a well
Sometimes,
                  in the cave of an animal
Sometimes,
                  in the crack of a rock
Sometimes,
                  in the hollow of a tree
Sometimes,
                  in the current of a stream
And on the rarest of occasions
I'll find Her lodged between the pages
Of my notebook

I've collected a dreams worth of gems now
So whenever I find myself,
                                       Lost.
- Swallowed by the void -
I'll have enough moonlight in my jar
To ignite the darkest of days
And the presence
                             of Her presents
Will go unnoticed by no shadow
Or creature of the night.

Luna knows I'm watching Her.

I'll continue to gaze from below
And let no stone go unturned
So when the Moon drips again
I'll be there to catch Her
Another crystallized droplet of a blessing
To tuck away
In the box under my bed.

My brain is a bowl of spaghetti
I can be turned with a greedy hand
And a rusty fork
Eating my thoughts
From an unwashed container

Please stop eating.

I don’t think I can afford
To lose another fork-full
    another strand of memory
Let alone
Be mixed up
With the other ingredients
Poured into my skull

It seems I’m getting sloppy.

Refills are impossible
Because the more I try to stuff inside
The more the contents overflow
And the threads of words
Come spilling out
When I beg them not to

Well.

I hate contradicting myself
But without anyone eating
And without room for refills
The nutrients inside
Will begin to rot
And disintegrate
Into nothing but molded mulch
So everything I try to retain
Will be useless
    and inedible

The filth accumulates.

Insanity will be the smell of my mind
It will control my every action
A single whiff
Strong enough
To lower the IQ of a genius

I’m losing myself.

I’d try to explain it
In understandable terms
But it seems the correct words
Were lost
    when I was bitten into
And scattered
    when I overflowed

This is what I tried to describe before:

My head is a box of noodles
I can be dented with a pinky finger
And a dull knife
Tasting my dreams
From a…
        Hm.
    Sorry.
What were we talking about?