The haunting vale

I don’t have the guts to take off the mask to put on a new one

I didn’t have the guts to be vulnerable even though my veins were bleeding out

A soft glimmerwind of something you thought you wanted to attach yourself to,

I find myself lingering in jealously at the Tom-boys and apparel that gives off a boxy shape without giving up womanhood

That mask is much too rich, like a cheesecake that has too many creamy, gooey, buttery layers

Then, I collapse in my psyche

The haunting vale

That long goodbye that felt like the shortest end of a stick, a trip that was eaten by a muddy terrain

A whippoorwhill’s mournful call being slapped out by a frigid wind, a glass case that shuts out the warning

Closed off, Dear Moon,

With something so ethereal, dangerous, bloody-high,

With all my masks piled up,

You hang in the balance of my dead subconscious, in the vale of haunting phantoms

The audacity I had to once think we spoke the same language, La Luna,

I have not the guts to speak to you.