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Luna Feb 2019
Madness like a red coat
Around her throat
Drowning in the ruins
Of her own misery
And
Own sorrow
O’ dear child,
You should have stayed
In that garden of yours
Among the myriads of
Growing daises
And
Gifting each of us a violet
For centuries to keep
But how long can
Leaves shade you
From the
Many faces of fate—
The cruelest ones always name after us,
Victims.

Dwell in the many layers of rosemary and pansies;
Look how is ironic history just became
With its indelible smell of
Fennel and Columbius ;

Drawn towards the many
Spun webs of the
Golden singing spiders—
She floats amongst the
Water lilies
From here on.
Luna Feb 2019
Is it coming back to me?

That haunting, haunting tale

Dressed in black and shriveled hair
She’s a mute, ever-lasting present

This city is her home
And she walks behind
Me at all times
Keeping an eye out for me—
What do you want
I scream
And
Scream
And
Scream
Nobody goes anywhere.

Intervene my present;
My future runs in red fluids

Flooding me,
It’s my own shadow
I cannot ignore

Biting letters
Or memories
Doesn’t make it go away—
No, the smoke’s leaving a
Trail

Follow me,
Follow me,
Follow me—
Engulf me—
I once said

How many moons ago was that,
I seem to have lost all senses

Red, yellow,green—
It’s all blurry

I have started anew now
(Or have I?)

It’s the same old me—
Just trying to hide her now

The night is long dead and cold
Then
I wonder why is she
The only one breathing
Luna Jan 2019
Fall seems the season for forgiveness,
But I am the only benevolent by heart,
Who reflected a privilege despite not being a son.

So for mothers with a purpose in their hearts-
There’s more than a name just pronounced,
Leave your daughters with an abundance of deliverance,
Maybe they’ll learn to build their own homes with it,
and survive in it.
Luna Jan 2019
I can see myself staring at the black curtained walls
Which hang from the wooden frames of demolished men with simple names
I can feel the grey in their eyes devouring
As their cloaked hands stretch forward like an endless trail
Until
They reach around my throat
Suppressing my wails
I scream and kick but nothing ever happens
It goes on as my skin rubs against my bones in agitation
And I am left with nothing but two breaths and a body full of raging marks
Luna Dec 2018
Another landmark added
To my skin
I seem to have done it again

Under the harsh light
That falls from the solitary bulb

I bend the pocket knife
Just above the wrist
And
Watch with hallow eyes
As it bleeds

Out of my arms
Into the tiles,
Unto the floor

Blood,
Oh blood, so red.
I marvel at how red it always
Remain
Never matter if it’s a
Razor or knife I use
To draw it
It’s always red
And
I half expect
It to be black

Black like charcoal,
Charcoal which paints my ruins

I can die nine times
Alas, this one only being the fifth

How long can I keep up
With this air
Being ****** out of me
Day by day,
Second by second
I push anyone
Who comes too close
To me

Afraid I might damage
Them too

Like I damage myself
In every life
When I dabble
In hellfire.
Luna Nov 2018
And beaneath everything there’s another feeling, the last of them buried beaneath my bones.
The feeling of sitting in the dark, alone.
Some might see it as peaceful; a place for safe keeping for yourself but it’s anything but that.
Instead it is hiding, crawling up into this dark corner because of all the lights flashing at me.
They’re transfixing in a way though, these lights. Like the cacophony of moth wings near that one simple light that hangs suspended in the middle of a hospital room. It’s kind of rancid too in a way.
On reflection, everybody is trying to dissect me.
Dissect me till I am these layers of feelings I store.
But nobody can ever reach down enough to this hidden feeling.
Everybody wants to tear me apart; but I am only flesh and bone.
The only part of me that needs to be torn apart is the one in the darkness, where I am caged and begging to be torn apart.
Not a poem I know but a little something inspired by the show Alias Grace. A must watch btw :)
Luna Nov 2018
One shot fired into open air—

As heavy curtains
Draw dark corners
Into our house,
We turn away and run .

Two shots fired into open air—

The empty walls
Resonate
As we lay under
A new, foreign sky.

Three shots fired into open air—

We try to forget-
What is now history
We walk down the streets
With a name in an unfamiliar
Tongue
And our heads bent

Last shot fired into open air—

Our necks forced down,
One of us is wailing;
Two of us in silence-
Nothing avails.

Because
We are a shade darker
than their soils
And there’s a cloth on our heads-
Screaming.
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