moonscript

She’s a flame,

and I’m going to get burned.

An ocean

and I’m going to drown.

But no one chooses a future. You choose a path without being certain where it leads.

Choose one way and a monster rends your flesh.

Choose another and your heart turns to stone, or fire, or glass.

the scars start shining

like the moon shines

in the dark night sky.

the wounds shine brighter in the darkness

when they were hiding all day

in the bright sunshine.

but there in the dark

quiet

anxious

empty room

the scars

the wounds

start glowing

sitting there all alone…

the dark

is quiet.

.

.

.

.

.

.

is like putting bandages on a shattered glass-

the water will still slip through the cracks,

no matter how carefully

there is still blood on the ground where it landed.

there is still blood dripping down the fence where it rocked back and forth

before finally falling.

it’s body lies peacefully now.

but it died.

cold. alone. abandoned. suffering.

a death so quiet, no one felt it’s void.

and i couldn’t do anything to help.

it’s just a bird, i tell myself.

but if it was just a bird, i wouldnt be sitting here grieving.

i don’t like grief.

grief feels heavy, exhausting, cold.

my heart is aching.

i feel like i’m drowning, but there is no water.

i didn’t cry when my grandpa died of cancer.

i didn’t cry when i lost my best friend.

i didn't cry when my dog was put down.

so why,

am i crying