Imagine, for a moment, that you're a moth.
(I'll imagine too, we'll be moth buds).
Your wings powdered,
your antenna feathered,
your soul dim,
your eyes up.
You're flying,
trying to find your way back to the place where you started,
the place where they're waiting for you
(and for me, wait for me).
But the moon has been hiding,
tucked away out of reach.
So instead you look up towards the stars high above,
scooping skywards to search for the moon.
But the stars aren't stars
and your wings aren't working
and the stars are moving,
descending down a shimmering goo-line
to feed on your still-writhing flesh
(and mine too, wait for me)
and the glowworm has tricked you
like the candle before him
like the lantern before him
like the bright spot in your mind the moon couldn't outshine...
(imagine that it tricked you too).
💀
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