I am the faded moth,
attracted to the light you project,
or maybe in the end
I really am the butterfly
because those false pretenses of protection
keep me in the dark
Opposites attract
yet comprehension
of deeper senses
retains a spark.

I can't seem to get out of my head.
Frantic, demanding that
someone brings relief
and like the dreams
(that were safe in their painless blur)
no souls seem to see
a soul in me.

How disgusted I am
knotted
at the thought of simple needs.
Keeping me believing
but I need my sanity
for tainted perspective.
Concepts of
timelessness and gravity
and post life confessions
dragging judgment down
to endless inferno
(or was that above ground?)
I guess that is, perhaps,
what we're arguing for.

Believe in my sin
Or you'll burn in my hell.
Hypocrites can spit their biased rhymes
the sweetest sound of their own voice
pounding out adversity
with privilege so protected
by a sheltered sense of freedom
have you seen them?
sparks in their eyes
but no fire meets mine
like a reflection on black glass
asking for attention, recognition
but I was raised with suspicious superstition
born to distrust
disgust
and disappear.