THAT FUCKING MOON

The gravitational pull
of the moon
drags every single broken,
blackened shard
out
from my tightly sealed chest
and thrusts it into view.
 
I stare
watching as the sun goes down
on my parade
awakening to the finest details
of my perceived wreckage
as I pick apart
my daily charade.
 
The stimuli before my eyes
is unseen
since forms and sounds
are concealed
by smoky movements
reminiscent of inadequacy.
 
This is not a reflection of me.
 
This is not who I want to be.
 
I drown it out
by letting it consume me
inch by inch
but keeping my core
untouched.
 
Its fickle reasoning
is easy to dupe
when I know for certain
that my essence is enough.
 
The gravitational pull
of the moon
drags every single broken,
blackened shard
out
from my tightly sealed chest
and thrusts it into view
 
and I stare at it.
Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: