The moon is my mother,
My sister, my daughter.
I want to hold the moon
As she shines bright and full
With a halo of silver
Her eyes dark and cold.
I want to borrow her strength
That pulls in ocean tides
Trapping fish in tide pools
To be freed, or eaten, in time.
Let her power flow through washing away bitterness caused
By vexation and sorrow.
Let her light burn out the darkness
Expose the cracks in my soul.
Moon. Mother.
Moon. Daughter.
Moon. Sister.
Lost. Me.
I beg for hope and healing
That I can't find alone.

Moon. Sister. Los

You're only mine in night so deep
when we tangle together in crisp, cool sheets.
Moonlight blessed, under stars that dance.
Reveling in our forbidden romance.
Hands and lips trace soft lines on fevered skin.
Whispers breathe words of adoration and sin.
Eyes close and body opens letting you in.
But only in the dark so deep
When you're mine to touch, but not to keep.

We all have that one person in our lives.
The one who provides a constant itch.
They've wrecked innocence.
Stolen faith.
Destroyed the sense of safety and ease in your own skin.
And not content with those ruinations they trade in petty miseries
daily interfering with the simple joys in life.

Red tail-lights reflect off the road in the rain.

And I don't want to get over this loss,
this space that's left empty is not a void waiting
to be filled
with a new love, a better drug, or another distraction.

The vacancy that remains,
measured by your worth,
which you cut and carved, scarred into my heart will stay empty and cold,
borders rough-edged,
Showing off the pride in my loss.
Cherished, enduring, welcome.

My only shields from madness
are anger, desperation, need.
Don't try to pull me from the wasteland
of all this misery
when you can't begin to love me enough
to break these crippled bones of insanity.
They stand here solid, stripped clean,
glowing with the fury
of an ember trapped in an icicle.

Yeah, so giddy I'll confess...
Light-years past crazy baby.
Constellations of bruises,
a silver sort of stench of starburst blood drops,
sickening rainbow... purple, green, yellow... of healing.
Anyone else would be too.
But its a gift really.
What hasn't killed me's
made me stronger, right?
Strong and brave enough
to grasp the icy tail of a
rushing shooting star
and hold on, sharp and cold and clean,
ever tighter while mountains and oceans fade.
The lunatic soul locked inside the body
constricts with each breath and beat.
Until it surrenders with unbearable brightness.
Supernova in a straitjacket.