solitude makes for great company
it never runs out of things to say
i am never truly alone as long as i have myself, right?

there is a moth in my room
desperately searching for the moon
something to be guided by, something to follow
fluttering in a panic, seeking some semblance of hope
a pitiful endeavor

are my desolate attempts to find meaning
in anyone who isn't myself just as forlorn?
but what am i but a moth stuck in a bedroom?
what am i but an amalgamation of miserable attempts to find the moon?
my existence, just as this moth's efforts, is insignificant

we will die the same; confused, alone and
ignorantly hoping we will one day find the moon