Blue Moon Musings

“She calls me”

I like to flirt with death.
I’ll perch on the edge of towered roofs and watch the skies burn molten embers with lemonade hues, one nudge and my free falling bones will shatter into shards of elated expiration.

My dormant doormat body springs to life in adrenaline ju**ie highs, the heated rush of driving so fast butterflies take flight. Cackled laughter explodes from my throat as the world surrounding me turns to a smudged oil painting,the only constant is I.

I dance and sing in thunderstorms of crackling light and stinging rain. Repetitive rumbles ricochet through my core and each CRACK births tingles across my skin. Fear and desire hum the same tune into my eager ears. Petrichor mixed with battery acid lines my mind with blind excitement

When I’m falling in faster than I breathe. Each slither of my heart I offer to another soul, takes part of my life bringing me closer to the edge each time it’s discarded. Love. Forever relapsing in an addiction I refuse to give up. source no longer replenished it withers into a forced reset.

I’ve danced with the devil and been baptised of my sins. Only for my human vessel to break those unblessed vows again and again. Red spider Lily lamentation forces fistfuls of a poisoned wake into an already slowing heart.

I do not fear death, She welcomes me into a warm embrace. Her finality seductively draws me under with hypnotic harmonies; I sway and wait with baited breath.
I fear a life unlived
I fear a life unloved
I fear a life unfulfilled

I have died a thousand times, this season is all but a pebble in an estuary lying in wait for something more, in the next wave carrying me into the oceans of a new life

Featuring a gorgeous post by

Hope is the last thing ever lost.
Italian proverb

We're grateful to feature 🌈 Prisms 🌈

Delighted to feature .soul
🏳️‍🌈🦄♾

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Your Monday Reminder from the lovely poetess

June is pride month and we would like to read/feature your pride poems and art!! What better way to celebrate LOVE!! Use

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Image credit Autistic Bride

Hellfire never felt so good

Springs caress
After Octavio Paz

I'll kidnap spring and fold her neatly inside of the pocket of my rust coloured polka dot dress.

Her cool cool breath kissing the inside of my leg as she swings from my branches.
Unfolding me, unfolding herself, becoming free.

She hums to me in the meadows hitch, in the bluebirds song, in the awakening trees.

Does one not know of her Magick?
Her powers of persuasion, transformation?
((Does she not know what she does to me?))

Her tongue erases the bruised blues from my eyes, replacing it with clarity, with rebirth.

(( I died this winter))
I bathe in hope that she will save me.

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・・・
Guilt landfills
📸:

Featuring the works if ! Our beautiful cosmic friend. We know the communing is really feeling this loss, so reach out of you need. Hold to each other. There is no right or wrong way to grieve x

Such a loss to all that felt the light of Miss Bunny.

No words, just deep felt sadness for all those touched by this tragedy.

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https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-emily-pay-for-life-saving-fsgs-medications

Please take a look and share if able. It would ve much appreiated! I love you all!

Help Emily Pay for Life Saving FSGS Medications, organized by Emily Langford In 2021, Emily (living in the UK) met Erik (living in Canada) online t… Emily Langford needs your support for Help Emily Pay for Life Saving FSGS Medications

And breathe....... ❤️

Feeling this A. Shea Poetry

Love Me Enough to Stay

A. Shea 💜

I love you where the oak trees grow, and again everywhere else after that

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Featuring a write that took my breath away. If you don't follow this page, I suggest you take a look. You will not be disappointed

Poem in caption.

Posted • “Little ones”

The next time you open me up,
please don’t stitch the wounds.
Leave me to breathe myself to dust.
Do not resuscitate my carcass,
for it is a worthless memorial to avarice:
a life lived in mortification,
a soul tricked to zombification,
a mind tripping on intoxication.
Use not defibrillation
for my reanimation;
leave me be, in annihilation.
Save shots of adrenaline
for thirsty bloodstreams
of younger hearts
that still feen to beat—
Save their rhythm, not mine.
Sing their music, not mine.
Read their words, not mine.

You can fathom in their eyes
the ones who still want this life,
whose drive is to thrive in these wild times.
Allow them to fly high,
to dream far and wide.
Give wings to their fragile souls.
Give wind to their precious sails.
For mine have failed;
folded by malicious gales.
Don’t waste your words on me—
Think not even my name.
Placate all mourning
and do not let the little ones see
this heap of shattered dreams.
Do not let the little ones be
like this maddened monstrosity.
Take the loss of me,
the mess and rot of me;
wear what’s left of me
as second skin—
Forge my bones to armour.
Mix my blood to sweet nectar.
Sacrifice me on godless alter:
let me be salvation
from their damnation.

The little ones—
the birthed in sacred earthen ones.
The little ones—
The hungry chested zealous ones.
Starve me for the little ones.