Keep writing about that boy”

he told me,

but the writer’s block in me

knocked me out

and i woke up hours later to a sunless sky and rumored moon.

one time i foolishly tried to list my lovers in loose words,

you were mine at the time,

and all i could manage to write for you was

how you were like lightening and thunder in a burgundy sky,

and i haven’t quite understood it until now

on the roof,

blood moon overhead.

it is the violent and bleeding heartbreaks

that crumple us and our humanity

into small scraps of dwindling significance,

and illuminate the truth of existing

in a dream where

our souls can finally dance in the pain,

and the skies can feel love too.