It's Always Red Beneath The Moon Poem by Luna Moon

Brown empty eyes and a hallow heart,
Leave my staring aimlessly into a mirror that held nothing.
Into a nothingness so full I could almost smell my own blankness.
Because this body of mine is so empty of all feeling,
So empty of thy self and of who I used to be,
That the only thing left within me is blood.
The only way I'm sure I'm still alive,
Is to feel my flesh break and split beneath the pressure of my knife,
And to watch crimson blood roll down my skin and stain it red.
The only way I'm sre I can still breathe,
Is to sit all alone and stare numbly as bead after bead of my blood inches down my leg, my hand, my arm, and pools around me in a thick puddle by the sink.
I smother it all over my naked body and inhale its warm aroma.
I paint it across my breasts and squish my toes into the surrounding pool.
Like an animal i lick my pink lips clean of the blood,
And blanket myself in its comfortable fluid form.
I sleep thus in the everglow of my own pure liquid,
Then wait for the morrow the return of my numb,
When I must take my own blood to feel alive again.
Wait for the morrow,
Wait for the morrow,
And wait until I must remember how...
It's always red beneath the moon.