Blood Moon Rising

The red moon is climbing over the abandoned buildings in my backyard,

Spreading its devious glow, smashing all bulbs to dangerous shards.

But when the tranquil starlight touches my empty eye sockets,

Another ambition of mine dies and your greed fills unworthy pockets.

Some black smoke is escaping the nearby chimneys, letting me choke.

“Those city kids get high on fumes,” you always used to joke.

It is quite funny how the smog reminds me of your coldest embraces.

You used to hold me down – one heel on the temple, grin on your two faces.

But they called it a fairytale so I let the carriages run over my feet,

I let the night become my sister and hoped your hate would grow discreet.

The darkness wrapped me like a cloak, suffocated me like boiling syrup.

When I unwrapped all your ingrown chains, they deemed you a cherub.

Still – each time the blood moon rises, I welcome it in my ghost town.

I play with it deceitfully until another naïve morning comes around.

The drops of water hold onto your reflection but I wipe them away.

Sharp edges collect themselves again as my pride gets rebuilt in clay.