There is a moth
beating its wings inside of the lampshade.
I watch it haunt me from up there,
Perspiring the need for absolution
until I vomit regret
with a violence
of the Earth at present.
As I shake with a torment of ages
it continues to tink-tink and flicker,
casting further shadows on my
In the early days I was hopeful
for a remedy
but that was the sweet scent
lingering in the air.
My final escapee.
I tried to catch them, extinguish them all .
Every single, last one.
But tears of desperation evaporated in
the flames that should
never have been given.
They were of a speed that mocked
dividing like cells, intent on poisoning.
The aids of the world of then;
mutating life before my eyes.
And so I stopped. Admitted defeat and
indulged in weary desolation.
Began to observe my creation
every affliction, a wound upon my
It was with unprecedented sadness
that I watched them spread, spoiling
the beauty of my beginning.
And I was that, before then.
Before the whispering brain
boiled over in lunacy,
spasms of interest
paralysing my conscience
until I was gripped; possessed by it.
I am a map of scars
for your world of pain,
Learned all too late
curiosity kills more
than just cats.
And for my part in that,