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Moonangel Poetry Poem
Sometimes I contemplate about my own self-destruction.
I wonder if I am at fault for the way this state has simply become a dreadful inevitability.
I wonder if I am at fault for the way my mind hums with a silence that scratches my soul.
I wonder if I am at fault for the visceral, undeniable pull that tugs at my sternum.
Fatigue.
It’s a conflictive concept.
It’s practical. It’s biological. It’s physical.
But for me, it’s the definition of my existence.
It’s the medical complications that pile up through my fingernails like tangled vines on a hanging tree.
It’s the pocket-sized triggers that push me back into a room with claw marks on the door.
It’s the way that no matter who I am, what I am, or where I am, I will always be a victim of exhaustion.
Not the sleepy, heavy-lidded homesick type.
But the invisible type.
The blood-itching need for evaporation.
The throat-clamping desire for combustion.
The tear-scarred plea for deterioration.
And I wonder if all I am meant to be is a hanging tree;
vexed by the vines of her own making and hung by the carvings of her own captivity.
Copyright © moonangel poetry | Year Posted 2026
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Moonangel Poetry Poem
I learnt a new word today.
Catatonic.
The vexatious coax of its accuracy sanctifies the burden of my reluctant existence.
The vacant faith of its salvation glorifies the redundancy of my timeworn stagnation.
The inertia of my own consciousness rouses within the weight of my repulsive apathy.
I am absent.
My reflection in the window distorts into a portal.
The pale of my skin shudders, an ashen pallet of abasing beauty.
The tremors of my skin winces, a demeaning pallet of humiliating fortune.
The curve of my lips stitch shut, a confined pallet of overflowing tincture.
The violent, lilac fuse of deprivation pounds my crimson in a bloodthirsty famine of a desperate call for condemn.
Yet, the only paragon unearthed is the vacant, potent inevitability of saturation into the voices of my own void;
I will forever remain in an absence of my own conceded mould.
Copyright © moonangel poetry | Year Posted 2026
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Moonangel Poetry Poem
The departure is all I know.
Its familiarity is embedded in the sadistic comedy of my consciousness.
Its affection is engraved in the intimate deception of my own searing flesh.
Its practice plays on a loop in the fond erraticism of my haste.
The malice kisses my tears as it spits salt into my sores.
The isolation tends to my methodical mourn of a mockery.
The reassurance of my ruin strokes my hair; a reminder of my rational wreckage.
The impulsive denial of my fate lingers in the darkness of my preordained doom.
The doom of my dread.
The doom of my denial.
The doom of my destiny.
The deliberate descent into the dusk holds me hostage.
The eerie malevolent vines of its malign wrap around my vindictive matter.
It squeezes until I drip with the decay of my own skin-swallowing dejection.
The white of its teeth gleam at me, gasping in my reluctant pleas of sojourn.
The rot fuses with the warmth of my blood and the salt of my sweat.
This is the end I yearned for.
This is the termination I yearned for.
This is the finale I yearned for.
Calculated.
Segregated.
Anticipated.
The doom of my departure.
Copyright © moonangel poetry | Year Posted 2026
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Moonangel Poetry Poem
Dear Moon,
Each syllable of your name sings a melody so serene, I find the scarcity of my own tranquility immersing on the tip of my tongue.
The hum of my profound fragility twirls along the brittle attempts to submerge into the cloud of my thunderous delicacy.
The remnants of my soul crumble into a decaying, dispense of dust, floating through the basins of Earth’s hue.
The scent of you radiates off of the vex of my skin.
An ethereal blend of elegance, silver and the spirit of my distillation.
I find each celestial fragment of my embodiment thickening in the night sky, enveloping itself into the safety of the split space within the stars.
The green of Earth farewells the gleam of my cells.
Each one shines with the shimmering pride of a newfound purpose:
The stillness of perpetuity in lunate.
The hush of eternity in galactic saint.
And the appease of permanency in cosmic quaint.
A final exhale until my excess joins your divine rock of tragical, obscured beauty.
Your gravel brushes against my skin, so calamitously determined to test my devotion, oblivious to the ache my ashes fester for you.
Dear Moon, I call your name.
Copyright © moonangel poetry | Year Posted 2026
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Moonangel Poetry Poem
Memory has never been my strength.
In the afternoon, I couldn't remember what I had for breakfast.
At school, I couldn’t remember the equations we studied in Math.
Yet I remembered you.
Not your voice whispering the words I yearned to hear my whole life.
Not the way your fingertips traced my cheekbones as if it held the answers to the universe.
I remembered your eyes.
That wide-eyed look you gave me the first night we said goodbye.
The same wide-eyed look you gave me when that goodbye became our last.
The way your lashes brushed your eyelids, just how your stubble would brush my chin.
The way your lips parted, but nothing came out. As if no words had the strength to hold the weight of what you so desperately wanted to say.
It had been days, weeks, months since you. Since us.
I pray to forget. I pray for mercy. For this hollow ache to vanish like you did; simple yet inevitable.
And still, everywhere I go, you haunt me.
A shadow in the alleys, a voice in the distance, a ghost in my head.
I turn around dreading to see your face, but I still turn.
Even if it reminds me of the tears, I shed too easy, the food I overconsumed in hopes of comfort, yet nothing comforted me quite like you.
Nothing comforted me like threading my fingers through yours and the world would go quiet again.
Nothing comforted me like your lips on mine, inhaling me like oxygen you were deprived of for too long.
And I hoped you would look at me like you did that night.
When your pupils were dilated, and you looked at me like I hung the moon.
And that made me smile, because you would be my star.
Forever orbiting, but never within my reach.
Copyright © moonangel poetry | Year Posted 2026
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Moonangel Poetry Poem
‘I don’t want you to get over me.’
‘I don’t want you to move on.’
‘I don’t want you to forget me.’
All the confessions, the desperation and the shameless, selfish desires.
The way you’d admit to the craved crimes yet to be committed.
Your words of devotion wrapped in the promise of a threat; I’m wherever you are.
The way you’d hold onto me, so tight, I didn’t know if the pain bordered on comfort or captivity.
The look in your eyes when you’d whisper, “you belong to me.”
The dilation of your pupils, as the black swallowed the brown.
The muscle that ticks in your jaw as you refuse to look away.
The fear in my eyes as I’d lie to myself that you don’t mean it.
Because you didn’t.
Right?
I leave the house and I double check for the illusion of footsteps behind me.
My heart skips a beat at every red car, but I can’t seem to look away.
The air leaves my lungs; every man seems to be you.
Because you’re everywhere and you’re nowhere.
The paranoia wraps around my bones like silk; I can’t decide if it’s too cold or too familiar.
I can’t decide if it’s electrifying or horrifying.
A dream or a nightmare.
I can’t decide if it’s everything I’ve ever craved or everything I’ve ever feared.
Because the truth is I’m a runner.
Since the vex of your skin, the trail of your scent and the promise of a hunt.
I can’t hide, I can’t think, I can’t wait.
Because I’m thrilled, I’m terrified and I’m waiting.
Come find me.
Copyright © moonangel poetry | Year Posted 2026
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Moonangel Poetry Poem
Please don’t leave me.
The words leave a vain, bitter aftertaste on the tip of my tongue.
A fragile plea for anything but the tortuous labyrinth of solitude.
The desperation slipped out before I could even attempt feigning normalcy.
A shock that hit my bones like a physical blow.
Who have I become?
The anguish of desertion seems to leave a portal in the midst of my heart.
A portal leading nowhere but the salt of my tears.
A portal leading nowhere but the silver of my blood.
A portal leading nowhere but the burn of my combustion.
A combustion I have moulded thoroughly, with the fragility of my skin and the residual of my soul.
The moon stares back at me; expecting answers I didn’t process the questions to.
I don’t have the words to articulate it.
And perhaps that was my first sign.
My greatest strength stripped away from me, to reveal nothing but an achingly beautiful set of guts wrapped in scarred red velvet.
The luxurious elasticity cuts through my skin until it matches the crimson of the cloth.
I bleed. I pour. I fade.
Until all that is left of me is my salty tears, silver blood and an inevitable combustion.
I am programmed simply for the conviction of your destruction.
Copyright © moonangel poetry | Year Posted 2026
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Moonangel Poetry Poem
It’s a specific ache of a translucency.
When the void lays bare in the existential oblivion of a consciousness too far to reach.
When the light dims, energy draining the colours of my essence; shades of red metallising the shallow of my breaths.
When the fatigue tugs on my beauty spots. Each speck a black hole of invitation, a desperate grasp of a life thrown to the illusion of my shadows.
The glistening, teary craters smile at me.
Each glint of silver illuminating the rhythmic, pounding anticipation lying behind the cave of my voice box.
The craters were a testament to my survival.
They were a testament to my endurance.
A testament to my unwanted persistence; carved out of torment and ignited in anguish.
And I find, it is a specific ache of a cataclysmic triumph against the abyss of my own inevitability.
Copyright © moonangel poetry | Year Posted 2026
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Moonangel Poetry Poem
Why?
The interrogation of my terrain remains united with the departure of my illicit rout.
Unanswered;
It remains unanswered.
Every neglected weep of desolation seems to surrender into a twisted sense of homecoming.
As if I sought for it.
As if I craved for it.
As if I was such a deceiving fool to find comfort in the con of my own coiled hatred.
Every huff of laughter blooms in the scored rage of my cruel consciousness.
Every wretched scald for logic cuts through my stripped armour of malice.
Every beseeched gouge for a way out ignites the contamination of my polluted isolation.
Why?
The secluded sagacity of my sadistic void fades with the shaves of my skin.
As if an answer would demolish the fences of my enclosure.
As if an answer would kiss my wreckage back together.
As if an answer would dim the conceited lights of a blinded stage; a theatre dedicated to the amusement of my liberated decay.
I ask you a question.
Yet perhaps, all this time…
The answer has been inked onto the rot of my revolting ruin.
I am my own void.
Copyright © moonangel poetry | Year Posted 2026
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Moonangel Poetry Poem
It’s a bitter truth.
An unwelcome truth.
A truth I never planned to confess.
But I’m a poet; I wrap my truths in velvet and let the articulation slice through the cage of my heart.
The crimson silk of my soul calls out to the unknown desire of a reality.
The oxygen dances around my lungs, smelling of a sin feigning salvation.
I can hear the rain pounding the roof; the destructive harmony of the Earth’s rage.
I can hear the song of my mind; the silence of a fading essence.
I can feel the unanswered sleeping on the surface of my skin.
I wear my beauty to punish the desire that drips down their tongues.
I wear your reflection like a consequence of my serene, vain existence.
I wear my rage like a second layer of flesh, twirling down to my fingertips.
The print presses against the paper; a unique, personal interpretation of my bodily practicalities.
Written on the curved lines of my print are the words of my very being.
A moon’s craters illuminated by the dying void of my own celestial crumble.
Copyright © moonangel poetry | Year Posted 2026
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