letters to the moon [poetry]

blue roses

they bloom in places
where sun will never reach
the twisting vines of a tortured mind
a heart tormented, strangled by thorns

eden is choked by weeds
untended and left to rot
since the beginning of humanity.

so the flowers grow instead
in the dark circles under my eyes

in the blemishes left by "loving" hands

in the words i screamed in your face the day you bit the apple and spat it out in disgust.

from the remnants of that discarded fruit

they grow in the hearts of people like us; the people who laid their eyes on those two sinful wretches and felt camaraderie

eden was never paradise.
eden was a prison.

a cage where we kept our foulness hidden from the gaze of the stranger; from the eyes of god himself and his indignant scorn of the very things he created

hell is other people after all
and there have always been two