As a black snowflake falling, which is also white;
On a white backdrop of life, which is also black,

I escaped as ash of gray December.
I became as a ghost.
A single note of flute music.
A whimper on the ocean.
A tear of acid purple rain.

In ash you became.
As a moth which grows like vines of roses, black.

As a moth which flies like winds of time, tearing away your youth and beauty like sand againt stone and wood.
You became.

As a moth which is the snowflake of black or white on the land of black or white, you became. Frozen, still, silent.

Like the music I cried for.
Like the music I died for.

As you, like a moth, silently and with violent sound, became.