I often feel,
I’m surrounded by insects,
Moths specifically,
They flutter in office spaces,
Flitter sullenly about suburbs,
And drift carelessly along sidewalks,
They commune briefly,
Then fly on,
Towards their each own light,
We’re all moths you know,
We flutter about on frail wings,
Fragile aimless things,
We don’t even know we’re doing it,
We all have different wings,
Yet we all strive towards the same thing,
Towards a light,
At least we believe it’s the sun,
But as we draw closer,
The sun is peculiarly crypt-shaped.
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