A moth in a deathtrap,
He flutters in wheels of zeal with
the priestess on her knees,
in praises raised to what is real and
who can feel and what is ultra-veracity?
it burns a sentiment into the wings
as they melt behind him.
Inksplats are the price to talk -
but we barter nonetheless, for
my hand is at the door and i
could let my baby burn but
just, just for a second more i
want to quiver as his core,
it pulsates, as it tries to take flight.
It cannot, so it tries to make flight.
Oh, could it, but now, forsake flight? --
For the vessel lands empty upon
my salviating heart.
Rent, rent apart in this one-flamed apartment.
Electricity seizes the plumage and with
one wisp of smoke from my sour words
he puffs and then smokes and bursts
into fireworks, some whispered curse at
what I've witnessed . Oh so hastily, I close
the goddamned gate and watch him disintegrate
into dust, bits of cotton and a few wispy thoughts that
haunt the shallow light burning between my eyes -
moths fill my brain, the deathtrap I --
were it my fault the lover die?
