this poem is a liquid moon

My nights are inked
to the soiled sheets of tears
where the callous jaw bleeds inhuman poison,
or a thing pale as your heart
i sew it up to my nostrils, cold
the fragrance, shrieking my inside pits,
its dark, like blank spaces

Everything seems to be a show- off
your hands, your lips
my intelligence to care,
my cravings,
the nights turning them into molten pieces,
i die and become a ball of clay,
stuck to my body,
a parasitic drop of blood.

And there i lie
all dead and black,
with hemisphere dwindling,
and mouths missing
white thick slurp of warped words,
darkness runs in my heart,
like a lighthouse to my dreams.

Published by

my valiant soul

A dreamer and a believer for the upliftment of women rights. A published poet, author, writer. Believes in dancing and cooking amazing food for hungry souls at times. Loves to write and write till the moon is satisfied. My writings can be found at Visual Verse, Indian Periodical, Sick Lit mag, Duane's Poetree, Thistle magazine, among various others. Curator of Olive Skins.

52 thoughts on “this poem is a liquid moon”

  1. And the light from your words are liquid drops of moon glow. How vividly you’ve described this. The juxtaposition of your use of lighthouse to describe the beacon of darkness is just brilliant. Just beautiful!

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Definitely not. I said I am the child, pretending like I can do what you the grown up can do. Unable to read the newspaper, but holding it (upsidedown) in front of my face, to be like the adults.

        Liked by 1 person

      1. Same here . I would appreciate if you read my recent post as feedback from writer like you always appreciated and admired. I’m fan of your writing style

        Liked by 1 person

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