Sometimes I feel like a dust-mite,
time will badly use me independent of my courage,
all of the moths I have ever seen are shadows contained,
A fine memorial for the nothing man,
layers upon layers if those layers could speak
caught tongues, blabbered words,
there is no way to be certain of anything but the weeping,
a collective of the unseen
I would like to cover everything in pre-emptive gauze,
prevention is the best cure for ruin,
shrouding my words in illusion.