Last Moon Rise

What are these phantom tears that
Caress these delicate cheeks?
Remove the stitching that
Sutured the window-soul shut, the
Jagged scars reflect the iris’s
Hidden emotion veiled by
Deceitful smiles.

What is this reserved heart that
Pulses blood through delicate veins?
Slit the wrist with precision, and
See the wounds cry out all
Unexpected trepidation that before
Never had a visible hold.

What are these scars that
Map out what went wrong?
Strawberry gashes that once
Healed over found the sweet
Addiction to pain powerful enough
To smother past wounds.

What is this not written with
Trembling fingers, small hands?
You have lain in the cold rain,
Not making a sound waiting for the
Last moon rise and all you wanted was for
Someone to hold you.

Photo Credit Aliyah Jamous