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May 29, 2009
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Ancient Moon Dust Black
The ancient moon is a crescent blade in the
blackened sky. Blood stains on the hands
of the one who tortures me again;
blood stains on the sheets of the bed
I sleep in every terrifying night...
and the moon is like a glass ball
standing exquisitely delicate among the
cascading stars.
Remember me as the one who
screamed in your hands...
If I could hide, shrouded in the ebony silk
rippling across the waning moon,
hanging as a single beam in the great nothing.
Gleaming blade slitting my wrists one more time;
torturing blade, these scars are not inflicted by me...
ancient moon dust stain my hands black,
these things that cannot be dusted off;
I'm lost in the dark. Chilly ghosts who
defeat me everytime. Chilly ghosts who
breathe down my neck as I crawl away...
You ruled me once, a spinning silhouette in
a shattered mirror. I'm just a girl stained in
blood but this is your doing, your knife
on my wrists, your weapon of torture
ravaging my skin again...
oh, the silver blazon moon shied away; all of
the cold distance from here to the sky.
I'll still be here beneath the dimming stars,
the lights that always go out, nothing shines
when you lie alone, ashamed in the dark...
Shadows crawl over the bed at night,
scrambling across the ceiling, cackling as the
ancient moon dust black falls around me
and the crescent moon grazes my wrist
one more deadly time...
and if you dare reap me in this night again,
screaming aloud, but I know no one hears.
The moon is a glass ball cracking delicately,
shattering to pieces upon my floor...leaving
blood stains on the hands...
of the one who tortures me again.
blackened sky. Blood stains on the hands
of the one who tortures me again;
blood stains on the sheets of the bed
I sleep in every terrifying night...
and the moon is like a glass ball
standing exquisitely delicate among the
cascading stars.
Remember me as the one who
screamed in your hands...
If I could hide, shrouded in the ebony silk
rippling across the waning moon,
hanging as a single beam in the great nothing.
Gleaming blade slitting my wrists one more time;
torturing blade, these scars are not inflicted by me...
ancient moon dust stain my hands black,
these things that cannot be dusted off;
I'm lost in the dark. Chilly ghosts who
defeat me everytime. Chilly ghosts who
breathe down my neck as I crawl away...
You ruled me once, a spinning silhouette in
a shattered mirror. I'm just a girl stained in
blood but this is your doing, your knife
on my wrists, your weapon of torture
ravaging my skin again...
oh, the silver blazon moon shied away; all of
the cold distance from here to the sky.
I'll still be here beneath the dimming stars,
the lights that always go out, nothing shines
when you lie alone, ashamed in the dark...
Shadows crawl over the bed at night,
scrambling across the ceiling, cackling as the
ancient moon dust black falls around me
and the crescent moon grazes my wrist
one more deadly time...
and if you dare reap me in this night again,
screaming aloud, but I know no one hears.
The moon is a glass ball cracking delicately,
shattering to pieces upon my floor...leaving
blood stains on the hands...
of the one who tortures me again.
— Morgana Tragic Proprietress, May 29, 2009
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Critiques
Morgana Tragic…
17 years 1 month ago
Hey julie
yenti
17 years 1 month ago
Katie
Morgana Tragic…
17 years 1 month ago
Ah, Ian
Geezer
17 years 1 month ago
Ancient Moon Dust
Morgana Tragic…
17 years 1 month ago
Thanks Geez
mwrigas
17 years 1 month ago
i love the imagery in this
Morgana Tragic…
17 years 1 month ago
Mikey!!!!!!!!!
orgami
17 years 1 month ago
Well written with full feeling
Morgana Tragic…
17 years 1 month ago
Hey Org
sumsum22
17 years 1 month ago
very full
Morgana Tragic…
17 years 1 month ago
Yaaaaaaaaaaaaay Bryan!!!!!
Morgana Tragic…
17 years 1 month ago
Hey Kels,
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