I can sense the moon watching me

From its unfair vantage point, beyond

Windows with curtains drawn tight

Against that baleful gaze, an exercise

In futility because I drift inward to

Where its presence lays, thoughts

That ride the hidden places forged

Of moonbeams, here, beneath the

Skin of consciousness, a place of

Shattered glass and broken shutters.

A nowhere place of blackened walls

Made damp with countless unshed

Tears, marred with splintered claws

That have done little to scratch the

Surface of who I am, but linger on

In crimson pools of words unspoken,

They have trickled down from those

Jagged grooves to form an uneasy

Mixture of bitter possibilities, a strange

Concoction from which I dip my cup.

My face reflected back at me

Like a moon trapped in amber…

END

“Moon”