The Moon and His Other Half

It started with passive-agressive sighs and the clenching of jaws.
It progressed.
It turned into the burning of cheeks and the appearance of crescent moon indents in palms.
It moved
Into hands tangling hair.
It changed
like the phases of the moon, and the moon showed more of itself.
However this wasn't the face of the man of the moon,
But his back, breaking.
Like hearts pounding in ribcages
And the pressure of rage building behind the temples.
His dark side that no one had seen before wasn't as beautiful as his face.
It was over grown, ugly, unkempt.
Shivering with weakness and neglect.
A side that has been pushed aside for far too long
A weakness
That grew a sudden strength and pushed.
And pushed.
And evolved.
And screamed inside of closed mouths,
Bled inside bandages that made it's wounds seem twice as obvious
Yet somehow,
Nobody ever saw it.
It was swept under the rug, smashed inside of a junk drawer.
Locked away in an attic.
And it came,
Pounding down the stairs,
With a certain savage rhythm
And it took over
Completely.

It reigned with a malevolent hand,
Never lifted, never settled
Never stopped.
Not at the cries of mercy that mirrored his own in the darkness he'd always known.
He let his cries out of his closed lips
And the sound was woeful and joyful all at once.