Moth

About a moth's unrequited love for fire.

It’s a strange kind of love a moth has for fire--

to want to be wed to a funeral pyre.

 

Apparently, the moon and stars were not enough

to sate such a smoldering lust.

Driven by naivety, fantasy, blind trust...

 

It’s a foolish kind of love-- one I hate yet admire--

dusty paper bodies consumed by desire...

 

Quiet desperation in the dark

extinguished with a single spark.

Despair and elation curling into ash,

hollow hearts burnt up with trash,

faun and flame together at last.

Author's Note

Male moths are apparently called "Fauns" and female moths are called "Nymphs". Ignore grammar mistakes... we'll pretend they're there for a reason because.... poetry.

Ignoring any vulgarity, I'm a fucking Faun and the fire is ever so enticing, though I've been burned so many times. Fuck. Fuckety. Fuck. Fuuuck.