The moon came into the forge
in her bustle of flowering nard.
The little boy stares at her, stares.
The boy is starting hard.
In the shaken air
the moon moves her arms,
and shows lubricious and pure,
her ******* of hard tin.
"Moon, moon, moon, run!
If the gypsies come,
they will use your heart
to make white necklaces and rings."
"Let me dance, my little one.
When the gypsies come,
they'll find you on the anvil
with your lively eyes closed tight."
"Moon, moon, moon, run!
I can feelheir horses come."
"Let me by, my little one,
don't step on me, all starched and white!"

Closer comes the horseman,
drumming on the plain.
The boy is in the forge;
his eyes are closed.
Through the olive grove
comes the gypsies, dream and bronze,
their heads held high,
their hooded eyes.

Oh, how the night owl calls,
calling, calling from its tree!
The moon is climbing through the sky
with the child by the hand.

They are crying in the forge,
all the gypsies, shouting, crying.
The air is viewing all, views all.
The air is at the viewing.

5 Reasons I stay awake at Night:

Escape .

From the monotony of waking up and taking the same crap from the same life, no matter how many times I shuffle the deck, these are still the cards I've been given
From the nightmarish dreams of reliving my best low-lights and missteps, and coming to terms that I might never be all that I've wanted to be

From the cold reality that these sleepless nights hold the only comforts I truly have left, inside the pages of a yellowed journal, battered and bleeding ink from its blurred lines.

Distraction.

Binging another series on Netflix always sounded more appealing than taking another night to cry into my already soaking pillow until I pass out again

Playing through Pokémon fire red and naming my rival "******" was fun when I was 12, so why stop now? Even though its my.. 132nd attempt.

There is always another more obscure indie band that might somehow understand me better, and I cant leave that unheard.

Fear.

I am so afraid that when I sleep, I might never wake up from that slumber. Not that I'm afraid to die, I'm scared of how badly I want to at times

I'm terrified I will see familiar faces in my best dreams only to wake up and remember they are still gone, and I have to go on without them.
I'm afraid of tomorrow. So maybe if I stay awake past the point of sleep, far beyond tired, I can always stay one step ahead...right?

Loneliness.

How am I supposed to crawl into a half-made bed, alone when it was made for two? Your body should be here next to mine, but I cant remember the last time I felt that.

If you were beside me, It would be easier for me to drift off through the atom bombs and revving chainsaws that are my addled mind.
I'll lie awake and stare at this pure white ceiling, and think of how Michael Collins must have felt on the dark side of the moon. Sometimes I envy him.

Me.

I know inevitably, my hollow and tired bones will have to shatter as I crawl on top of the broken shards of glass that is my mattress. As I grab the blanket made of flames, I pull it up to my throat, feeling its scalding touch steel the oxygen from my lungs, the asphyxiation slowly taking me under again.

As these shards seep deep into my now lacerated skin, I feel the heavy chains of my bed frame grab me and hold me in my broken solitude, as that sweet mistress of death floats above me, gently reaching out to me.
How beautiful she is, she leans in for that sweet kiss of the end of all things, my lips tremble as I meet up to greet her, but these chains keep me just close enough to feel her cold breath, never enough to feel that serene deadly poison she offers.

But how bad I want to on days when my bed holds me hostage, to kiss her in my bed until everything turns black.

my heart hurts*

and i'm afraid that
that would be the last thing it does

Everyone searches for perfection.
The perfect guy.
The perfect girl.
The perfect outfit or haircut.
To be perfect.
To look perfect.
We all want it and seek for it desperately.
I'm one who never believed perfection existed.
All I see in the world is flaws.
I search for beauty and am always left with everything but.
I look at a random face and see every negative feature instead of the positive.
I guess you could say I'm a pessimist to the extreme.
Or atleast I was.
I've recently learned perfection is hidden within every moment.
Because I'll look at you and I know you're perfection.
Not because you look like the perfect human.
Not because you have the most perfect traits one could have.
You're perfect because...
Every flaw.
Every imperfection.
Every positive.
Every beautiful feature you have.
Is everything I want.
When I look at you, I smile and in that moment life is perfect.