Suicide Moon

The cool comfort of a blade
sinks in throughout the cold veil
of a solitary, darkened night,
piercing the silence with relief,
flooding ones' mind with thoughts...

...Thoughts of the Moon, in its lonesome gaze,
of the stars unknowingly flooding it
in a multitude of monochromatic life,
one less ordinary, thought to be
less deserving, less alive.

That, the Moon, dangles upon a thread
above all to see but out of reach.
For things as such are not meant to be held,
just meant to be viewed, for no one to posess,
for its own life it doesn't own.

But soon the sun will outshine the moon
painting with light all it sees
like the very blood that trickles from the wrist of one
that bleeds for forgiveness and love.
But the night will forget as the day it smiles.

The Moon can't be kept for longer,
it dies as the day it is born, she goes unwanted,
and for one last night she shines over us,
painting all she sees red, for tonight
she bids us adieu as she vanishes into eternal day.

03/10/05