To be as The Moth, born to the dark.
A fleeting fragment, a flickering spark.
To live life alone and die by the flame.
To be its own shadow. To not have a name.

Guided by stars too distant to hold.
To exist as a soul, that exists all alone.
To run into hiding by dawn’s first light.
To be haunted by, and to haunt all in sight.

Each light forms a lust that burns like a vow.
A promise of warmth that its fate won’t allow.
With wings, so fragile, that are pinned to this fate,
Its destiny cursed like sins born into saints.

Not resting at night, nor waking in peace.
For the pulse of the glow, we know, doesn’t cease.
To be called to the light as it paints life black.
To be deemed punishable before any ill act.

Yet The Moth questions nothing, asks nothing in return.
Never questions its darkness, or why the light burns.
A creature that lives in desperation of the night.
A creature that dies by desperation for the light.

Its symbolism, carved in my endless pursuit.
My shape stitched into the seams of The Moth's truth.
A life chasing embers no matter fate’s cost.
To be as The Moth, to find only what's lost.

Just like The Moth, I was born to the dark.
A fragmented soul with a flickering spark.
To live life alone and die by the flame.
To be my own shadow. To forget my own name.

♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦

There is a gnawing felling within.
I isolate myself because of it.

I shy away,
I look down and i stay quiet.

My conscious is my sword but the hands that wield it aren't mine.
I know very well why.

Give me my sword back!

And I shall put an end to these wretched demons.

Slow, quiet mornings,
tears still remain,
Eyes red and heavy from
carrying pain.
Thoughts like a river,
too deep, running wild,
Hard to be strong
when I still feel like a child.

I don’t want much—
just someone to see,
To sit with my silence
and still choose me.
Not to fix all the pieces or
make me pretend,
Just to offer their love
that won’t break or bend.

I'm Bombing
IRAN