A shepherdless ewe,
you concede to inanity,
exchanging salvation for entropy.
Governed by penance,
the moth dismisses all cries
to renounce the fatal warmth
of a false Sun.

Capsized, your lungs saturate
and you maintain faith in the ship.
We are shards of the same mirror,
wielding victimhood as weapon.
Heaven, a prolonged existence
in which decaying wings
fail to carry our weight.