LunaNoctis - General Artist

Featured Gallery

Rumor by LunaNoctis, literature

Literature

Rumor

I am the queen of eggshells castles built upon whispers, our horses tiptoe around voices, so that these shells don't wake the sleeping dragon. I am the queen of stillness rooms fill with hush from my presence, covered mouths hide the laughter, from the 2-faced masks of the children. I am the queen of foresight elephants are chained to the floors, they scream visions we all see, but we only laugh. This is a kingdom of lies we live in shambles, rusted metal is painted anew, together we crumble upon gift-wrapped cobblestones, buried beneath our stitched smiles.

The Lily by LunaNoctis, literature

Literature

The Lily

I was a dying Lily, drowning in a half-filled vase. Waiting to be thrown away, I sat behind the other flowers who were still beautiful. I wanted only to be disposed of, because a lily with already drooping petals is useless. Finally you came along and took me with you. I don't know why you did that. Now I am a dying Lily, sitting in the sun close to you. You still haven't thrown me away, but now I don't want to go. Although I will eventually fade, I find life worth living now. I no longer feel useless. As more of my petals fall, I know that I will die with happiness. Because my last days were spent at your side.

Pencil Marks by LunaNoctis, literature

Literature

Pencil Marks

A sketch is a rough translation of beauty, rarely understood by a stranger's eyes. It is not an incomplete work of art, but rather the extension of an idea in a moving free form. The essence of a sketch leaves room for change; it is anything but permanent. And with every stroke there are endless possibilities composed in a dance. It is not ugly, messy, and unkempt. It is not amateur, premature, or unprofessional. It is merely another form of art that has been suppressed. So do not look down upon the sketch, nor any sketchbook or wound-down pencil that is held by an eager artist's hand; for a sketch is the beginning, the now and later, the mov

Watchers 130

See all

LionCubCreations

siemprelatex

cjthornberry

mario44562

PrunceStar

FarrahSoraFawcett

Aidenthebluebird

Shadowkey392

sharp-knives

lucipiethedreamer

RedEzelt

Beaubema

Watching 168

See all

3a24a

adoration

Artgerm

Andoledius

Ameyh

AmyTheFox

Ash-Dragon-wolf

aSourLemon

AcIdxRaInBoWs

Assassins-Fanart

balaa

behindinfinity

Bllue

Bb0yShAd0w

Belliko-art

Poetry and Prose

See all

The Lily by LunaNoctis, literature

Literature

The Lily

I was a dying Lily, drowning in a half-filled vase. Waiting to be thrown away, I sat behind the other flowers who were still beautiful. I wanted only to be disposed of, because a lily with already drooping petals is useless. Finally you came along and took me with you. I don't know why you did that. Now I am a dying Lily, sitting in the sun close to you. You still haven't thrown me away, but now I don't want to go. Although I will eventually fade, I find life worth living now. I no longer feel useless. As more of my petals fall, I know that I will die with happiness. Because my last days were spent at your side.

Pencil Marks by LunaNoctis, literature

Literature

Pencil Marks

A sketch is a rough translation of beauty, rarely understood by a stranger's eyes. It is not an incomplete work of art, but rather the extension of an idea in a moving free form. The essence of a sketch leaves room for change; it is anything but permanent. And with every stroke there are endless possibilities composed in a dance. It is not ugly, messy, and unkempt. It is not amateur, premature, or unprofessional. It is merely another form of art that has been suppressed. So do not look down upon the sketch, nor any sketchbook or wound-down pencil that is held by an eager artist's hand; for a sketch is the beginning, the now and later, the mov

Blink by LunaNoctis, literature

Literature

Blink

The world is in gray. Darkening, darkening. There's a negative side effect to everything like a prescription for anti-depressants; it all just causes us to jump more often. I've seen you climb a 5 foot tower only to stop half-way and fall to your death. You're the smallest person in the world not because of your height, and it's weakening the foundations of your salt-lick buildings like the acid-like enzymes you created with your thoughts. You're carving mirrors with fake diamonds, and stupidity isn't the factor: it's the tabloids, word of mouth – you're living off the errors of others and in your fear you've refused to move. And in your

Michael by LunaNoctis, literature

Literature

Michael

With every vowel there is a spark, immeasurable by the twist of literature's words. With every breath there is a madness, captivated by the most timid of songs. With every sonnet there is a gaze, haunted by a thousand words unspoken. And upon these lips I am quivering something unsaid like a premature child aching to cry. With every turn I am falling further, like a bat without a voice to follow. With every gesture I am mocked, like a blind man without a cane. With every dance I am out of rhythm, like a fractured ankle – sore and limp. There are a million severed notes left unsaid. There are a thousand second guesses building lik

Eviction by LunaNoctis, literature

Literature

Eviction

Boxes full of could-have-beens, would-have-beens; broken glass tampered with scotch tape shoved into cardboard dustbins. Discarded skin cells by the billions drift into this poison-filled air, wasted by the lungs that refuse to inhale and remember. The burdens of these tiles, cold beneath my feet. The worn-down carpet, graying and yellow from abusive toes and puppy paws. Drawers are filled with papers that should have been ripped eons ago, but for the sake of nostalgia I have granted these things ungodly powers. There aren't nearly enough. There aren't nearly enough boxes, plastic containers, and bags. There aren't nearly enough tears to fo

Milliaria Rubra by LunaNoctis, literature

Literature

Milliaria Rubra

I have been shattered by the sun. Its rays have stung me until my skin cracks with disease. My fingertips are decorated with peeled and bleeding cells - millions have erupted at the heat of mere seconds. The marks of the desert bloom on my body like a curse cast down by an angry god, and I lie here helpless. I beg for a cool breeze to give me moments of normality. I beg for the kiss of frost to render me frozen. I beg not to melt - I am a snowflake amidst a world of flames. The desert is a fucking hellscape. Sand scans our horizon for open eyes, waiting for a chance to sting us blind. Shadows are worshiped here, like a series of cheap ban

Puppy Love by LunaNoctis, literature

Literature

Puppy Love

Dear Raven-haired, Fuck you. No, I didn't mean that. What I meant to say was, hi how are you? I think you're- ….no no, I shouldn't say at all. Let me start over. Dear Raven-haired, You've known me your whole life, and I just want to say thank you. I also want to say that maybe I...no wait. Nevermind. That's wrong – it's all wrong. Let me start over-... no I don't want to start over. This is so hard for me to talk about. It's so awkward. I know this is exactly what you didn't want. You know that I'm crazy right? Right. I mean it comes with the job, right? So you're prepared for my craziness right? So, I should just say it.....I s

Chance by LunaNoctis, literature

Literature

Chance

I'm writing letters in the dark to someone who may not exist. I'm tearing back pages, I'm peeking through the cracks in the walls made by the hundreds of punches my dry fists have made. I know I've uttered denial – I've choked down the pills of realism, forcing the truth to cut my pupils open. I've stared at the sky, and at the lack of the heavens I have declared you un-sacred. I've laid on my bed gasping the coughs of reality's laughter – the blindfold of my fakest smile is keeping me alive. But I'd rather be dead. Dirt sands over the tips of my toes – I'm slouching on a pile of what I once called my ideals, my visions, my lo

Farewell, Black Wolf by LunaNoctis, literature

Literature

Farewell, Black Wolf

These passages split across time, Like burning petals to my skin. I've crossed this river at a pace fit for the damned, and at its mouth I see a bleeding figure. No amount of embrace will cause me to shutter, but at the abundance of your frowning, I've succumbed to words falling like melting wax wings. There is nothing left anymore. It isn't death that has shattered us, because life had never blessed your fingertips. Like the bent corner of a page I have returned to this spot, only to lose my place with you. Crumbling, crumbling amidst us is this reality. Thoughts sputtered through veins, coughing up lies. With these broken hand

Truths by LunaNoctis, literature

Literature

Truths

(read this with an English accent) I hate how immature this has made me. But you leave me no choice. Nothing will ever be the same anymore. We can no longer be "the three amigos" - no no. Not when I can't even bear to look at your face. Forgive me for my silent defiance, but you'll be hearing and seeing less and less of me. It's for the better. And it isn't like you need me anymore anyway. You're quite happy right now, aren't you? You see, I've forgotten what it feels like to actually be within the presence of the person I love - actually no, I don't think I've ever truly felt that way at all. I've been lied to, and amidst his absence I can