Moon🌙

'cause everyone will die anyways.

[writingsofthemoon]

Uncertainty bleeds through cracks of the casket New Moon high up in graphite chest

Screech of nails scrape against mahogany, metal against teeth in a small, small room

Unknowns and sinfuls bow to their Lord solace in the devil's embrace when god looks away

black luster cuts through treacherous marbles of head reflecting off even the sun in high-days

Slimy skins jubilate in the new deprave flavoured cerebrum glitters and sparkles by the time soul piston reached

Dappled porcelain deceived the population throughout mortals expended claims of equanimity and just

How very easy to be Lucifer dressed up in a lover's coat singing out praises of pseudo-omnipotent.

[writingsofthemoon]

When the Night Whispers Your Name

When the night whispers your name, you would be consuming yourself yet too afraid to let go of the masquerade.

When the night whispers your name, your toes would be curled too tight the blanket around you a cascade.

When she calls, its very important you listen to her. But hush, keep your eyes closed shut- you must not see through. For she's doesn't fancy being discerned; she's made of you.

Lullabies lost, she'll sing to you between the silence of heartbeats. The wind beside her, will caress your hair and spill to you a blurred cipher.

When the night whispers your name, you will invade a trans meant not for you. Dreams woven in starlight. Distant yearning hailing, pearls mounted on graphite.

The warmth of memories long forgotten, will hold your oh-so-petite frame. The concrete of present four walls, melting into sun-bathed pasture, your mother crooning in lazy drawls.

When the night whispers your name, you don't fight back, let her coax you into lures undone.

When the night whispers your name, what was ash till yester will blaze up with the young sun.

~MOON

[writingsofthemoon]

i fear i may always be my 13 year old self

[nixscriptum]

[writingsofthemoon]

Some nights,

I rehearse what I'd say if we met again.

The script keeps changing;

Sometimes I'm kind,

Sometimes I'm cruel.

Neither feels good enough.

Maybe I'll just stick to keep loving you forever.

[writingsofthemoon]

But love isnt obsession, is it? For obsession could never last for eternity. It is merely a muse for your conscious, like a thin flame that goes extinct when met with meagre obstructions. But love, it lasts beyond lifetimes. It echoes in the vast emptiness of the universe like an explosion so far away, that it feels like a subtle, delicate whisper. If its not forever, dont call it love. Because what is love, if it never always leave you craving for more?

[writingsofthemoon]

every time i fall in love, i'm reminded yet again why i've always been afraid of it

[writingsofthemoon]

Being myself is really, truly enough;

but i don't know how to be that anymore

[writingsofthemoon]

The alloy of agony and apathy in your absence tastes like hellfire in my mouth

[writingsofthemoon]

When a heart loves, it remembers.

[writingsofthemoon]

"I want to ruin you slowly; and then put you back together better than before."

[writingsofthemoon]

im too young to be this nostalgic

[writingsofthemoon]

Do not let tomorrow be the grave of yesterday.

[writingsofthemoon]

"When is a monster not a monster?"

... Oh, when it loves.

[writingsofthemoon]

Nostalgia feels sarcastic lately.

[writingsofthemoon]

Strings and yarns strewn about.

In those eyes i devout,

I saw it all.

I saw the earthly celestial.

An early spring bloom,

like a lone bulb

in the dark room,

mild chirp cloaking noon,

the light sun

of late June.

He lifts his chin,

like an august win.

And august he must be,

for inspect his heavenly sage.

Like a fiery gleam,

his words of

threads and seam,

he comes as wild as a dream,

and swirls out

like a hushed stream.

Dazzles and star dust in his veins.

That amber skin constraints,

bursting and oozing of light.

I drink out of it.

oh, heaven, I'm here,

elated and rapt in

the taste of his queer,

galaxies buzzing in, near,

do you hear them,

like whispers too quiet to fear?

He and I, I barely feel the line thin.

Like an ocean dancing on my skin.

Gaudily I soak up

Every last of his presence.

Oh lord, his entirety,

that ravishing and

seductive intensity,

ugh- utmost satiety,

i elude myself

in his beguiling immensity.

-from MOON,

To the poet

who thinks he could never be the poem.

[writingsofthemoon]

there are faces that speak without moving,

That ache without wounding,

That burn without flame—

And in such a face I saw

Not the world as it is,

But the world as it should have been.

A winter sun behind her shoulder,

Not fierce, but honest,

As if God Himself had stepped away for a moment

To see what mercy might look like in skin.

She does not smile to be seen—

She simply is,

And the world scrambles to assign meaning

To what was never seeking it.

The tilt of her head—not coy,

But full of ancient knowing.

In the quiet wars she fights

Between kindness and silence,

Between chaos and restraint,

Something holy survives.

Look: a stray breeze lifts her hair,

As if even the wind asked her permission.

She does not command the room.

She makes the room question itself.

And those eyes…

O, those eyes that do not plead or preach—

They judge, yes, but not harshly;

They understand.

What crimes have been confessed before her

In nothing but the stillness of her presence?

What guilt has dissolved

At the altar of her soft attention?

She is not beautiful like a flower—

She is beautiful like a confession.

Or a prayer whispered

In the last breath before judgment.

And though she says nothing,

You walk away changed.

And later, alone,

You will remember not what she looked like,

But how you felt seen—

For the first time in years.

From A.G.,

To M.G.