a book titled the comfort book
carries silver-tongued truths disguised as preachings offering some peace.
turns out reading what's already known
is like seeing the result on paper—
having exclaimed, i won't believe unless it's shown.

can i slip in, as a matter of fact,
the moon is suing me for emotional damage
and all the pressure i've brought upon it, forthwith, with immediate effect?

she left a letter this morning while leaving
to hide in her contrary's presence—
a cease and desist nailed to the door of my self.
she claimed i'd stared too long,
longingly enough she’d started to feel bare,
and seen me stark naked as i whispered my dire lies to the night air.
she felt used. perhaps i committed a crime.
so i admitted, and asked for apologies.

except i was sent a summon,
to present myself and the plead-not-guilty note.
the stars—she put as the jury,
the night sky her lawyer,
the sun as the judge—he held fury.

i presented myself, humor disguising my truth,
but when they brought the memories to the witness box,
i knew i was done for—eloquently misjudged and overlooked.

had to take an oath,
but they lied under it even.
promised nothing was wrong.
i saw right through their plotting.

i aimed for the time reversing,
pleading guilty, admitting innocence.
my shadow whispered secrets i haven't lived yet—
and they brought her to cross-examine:
no one else but my imaginary friend.

she was mad.
mad for being forgotten and left.

so i did the next best thing:
tore my skin, let her scavenge through the inside.
she felt for the way my veins pulsed,
and admitted i was right.
speaking the truth, your honor,
i smiled at the moon,
but felt guilty for not seeing it sooner.

the universe had glitched—
whenever i cried, it glitched,
sent down a star to wipe my eyes dry.
in doing so, the stars suffered,
and the moon, without her supporters, lost her glimmer.
she lost her friends, as i lost my own.
and no, she wasn’t angry—
just a bit tensed, for she'd seen what happened to my hope.

the lawsuit resulted in me being freed.
i stood up, walked over, and gave her a tight hug—
the trial of chaos, and of giving life to non-existent hope.

she handed me the book of comfort,
written in white on a black page.
it glistened.
the often misplaced truths hide in the bright.
so accept them as you may—
they could be sour, bitter, expired to taste,
but breathing in the venom is one way to make sure
you don’t repeat the same mistakes.

and so this was my tale,
held in the celestial court.
i missed everything—except that i was forlorn, not too long ago.
i still sit at nights and stare at her,
but this time, she lends her own shoulder.
the stars scribble it down:
surrealism meets emotional rundown.

ominous as though it might seem,
this fits like a verdict-stamped
"not guilty" in my very being.

The silvers of influence
spill from the moon’s palm,
soft over skin warmed
by a beach day’s hush.

Here, paradise breathes —
not loud, but in sighs,
where seafoam curls
around ankle and ache.

Your gaze, dark as onyx,
doesn’t just look —
it lingers.
A smooth promise,
ripe with unspoken tides.

And I —
I unravel,
seduced by salt air
and the weight
of being seen.

🎀  𝒩𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶 𝒥𝒶𝓃𝒾  🎀

The quicksilver moon’s not secure in her orbit.
I’ve heard that she’s slyly slipping away,
One and a half inches yearly
so a little bit every day.

I, for one, want her to stay.
‘Oh meritorious silver sister, you have no dark side,
and I’ve grown used to your capricious light,
Why do you only hover at night?”

I think of her as my own
though she wears no ring
like that showy trollop Saturn
Our moon has a higher engagement pattern.

She’s a spectacle for moon-inspired dances
and a cupid for nocturnal animalistic romances.
Have you noticed that sometimes she’s dark
and sometimes she’s bright?

What turns her on?
What turns her off?
That’s always the question with ladies,
isn’t it?
.
.
Songs for this:
Dancing In The Moonlight (feat. NEIMY) by Jubël
Fly Me to the Moon (feat. Izzie Naylor) Shoby
Moonlight Becomes You by Jeff Haislip

fleeing beyond the horizon
a retreating sun sets ablaze
the rigging of aerial galleons
vapor masted and cloudy hulled

running before the wind
with full sail aloft
they press in hot pursuit
their unobtainable quarry

the pale mountainous island of the moon
secure in her fortress
regards the fleet with haughty disdain
as they hurry past

endless blue waters of the sky
deepen towards black
and breakers
on the great reef of the Milky Way
come into view

the fleet softens
losing interest in the hopeless chase
the ships dissolve and stretch out thin
on the last gasp of the failing wind

day sweeps over the edge
of the diurnal shelf
passing from shallows of dusk
to the starlit deeps of night

The sun comes out loud, like it owns the whole day,
It shines like it’s sure I’ll be okay.
It burns through the curtains, expects me to move —
Like light means life, and I’ve got something to prove.

But the moon doesn’t ask me to rise or perform,
It waits without judgment, calm and warm.
It shows up in the silence, when the world shuts up —
And reminds me that just being here is enough.

There’s peace in the dark when the day is done —
I feel more at home with the moon than the sun.