Nearing midnight,

surrounded by quiet,

and above me

the blackness

spackled with starlight,

and a full-moon

encased in an aura,

It is here ...

I wish,

I hope,

I dream,

for better days.

Songs ring in my head,

songs from days past,

they tell me

love is such an easy game,

you win, you lose.

When daylight rises,

night dreams will fade,

the day will begin,

but the songs play on.

and i wait for you

in this moonlit dream

(drunk on twinkling stars)

hoping that one day

you'll return to me.

star spangled freckles suspended from glossy filaments hang upon your face

painted in liquid silver they caress your cheeks like i wish i could

instead i’m left to reach out with what remains of these broken hands

these brittle bones which long ago fell into ruin and decay

my crumbling temple walls o’ercome by vines and wild death

the temple i built to you o my god o ruler of mine unruly heart

upon that hollow hallowed altar pomegranate seeds tucked within your cheek

you disappeared in a fit of shattered glass and sand and endless heartbreak

leaving me with naught but your brittle name upon my cracked and bleeding lips

no matter how far my fingers stretch the inch between us fore’er grows

i’m grasping at liquid demons inside these moonlit dreams

peaceful, falling

every smile you've ever worn

swings by on the sparkling tails of stars

you look up to the sky, awed, and it hurts

how amazing and new everything is

to the eyes that have never known tears of grief

it hurts, these moonlit dreams i have

of times when you were happy

of times when things were better for you

and of times we both seem to try and forget

for the sake of our mental stability

and all the lies we've built up since

standing tall and graceful on their

broken foundations of things we'd rather not

speak of

anymore

Silvered alabaster thoughts

Stitch gold to twilight beams

As twill like cobweb’s silk, inwrought,

Plaits evening’s moonlit dreams

Turn-down navy, satin sheets

Tuck constellations’ quilt

As milk-white-chocolate visage sweets

Of lunar luxe are spilt

Fingers bending golden sand

Being stares at the card in his hand

Someone’s ready to hit the hay

They bend on their knees to pray

He sighs, and shakes his head

This one would soon be dead

But as the lad heads to dreamland

He would send a wave of golden sand

That will give the lad pleasant dreams

And not a time filled with screams!

#DouxRêve

05/08\2020 (Wednesday)

when the moon peeks its head

out of the curtains to give me

a pitying look as I stare at my

ceiling tacked with plastic stars

that's the kind of time when I

spiral into these mad delusions:

pretend that I could shape myself

out of my own heat-blasted clay

and that fresh from the kiln I

would know the right answer

when you ask me if I like you--

made of strong and durable

well-shaped confidence my

stoneware lips would form

the right shapes...

instead the moon blinks at me

slowly

as I seethe in the flames, nothing

but porcelain mistakes, shattering

against the walls of my skull

I wish that I could be remolded

and not yet displayed to the world

because clearly there's still some

baking to be done;

I'm misshapen

cracked

and confused

and I haven't yet learned how to be

so I spend my days wishing I knew

better, wishing I did better, wishing

I didn't regret my weak-willed

ceramic heart that knows too little

that's when I stare at my ceiling

whispering moonlit dreams and

wondering when the spinning

will end

after the sun baked the life right out of him, he cowered to the moon as though he were a lost friend. perhaps that was why the moon became kind to him, savouring the new affection, but knew it needed the proper attention. and as they exchanged wishes and realized their unspoken desires, he glanced away from the moon- that's when he saw her. she was crying stars with a midnight heart; yes, she was lit up by the moon. that's how he knew he was destined to love her.

soon, cuts began to decorate his hands, showing all the times he failed to catch them. and far too often does she wonder if sylvia path had it right, with her melodious hearts and jilted poetry. but he never lets her think so for long, because he loves her and she just needs to know that (even if it seems he's coming off strong). now she spends the nights cowering with him, fingers interlaced and a million promises they've caught from falling out of their mouths. and he's sacrificed his nights to hers, feeling blessed just by the sight of her smiling at him. she cries the stars out in constellations now.

she was a collection of his moonlit dreams in the flesh; he grew to be her everything. the moon smirks at them sweetly, as they dance to the music of their hearts beating. she knows better than to ask of his fears, just as he knows never to speak of her miseries; why, because all they need is for each other just to be there. since loving is more than words, it's the unspoken feelings that stir in the night, while she cries her blinding tears and he caresses her golden hair.