Moth

Will you always be here?

beating against my brain

Like a moth trapped

By a sickly yellow

back porch light

Left on to light the way

of a lover never coming back

or a false sense of security

Against the quickly coming dusk

Beating against that dying bulb

Till your wings,

Torn and tattered,

Tear off

to slide down

the wooden slats

of a creaking deck

Your funeral dirge

decaying and forgotten

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