Death of a Moth

Returning to the room, the only thing which i noticed, was that the sun had set. the long fingers of sunlight which had stretched into the center of my room, were now gone.

it was cold.
the warmth had been drained from those fingers.
they were pulling away.
they were retreating back through the window.
they slipped away until those very fingers fell apart and disappeared.
and if i look hard enough, i can see the residue left as they melted into the carpet. their unreal blood has altered the carpet's color.

it looks as if the carpet has veins...
it's a fury creature that rests at my feet...
it lies quietly.

it warms to the gently-stroking fingers of the sun when it is shining.
and when the fingers melt away, it huddles under its mass of fur. at times, i am envious. its fine coat of thick hair keeps it warm during the long darkness of night. i sit and shiver, while it just lies there sleeping. sometimes, when it just becomes too cold, i will cuddle up next to it: trying to share some of that warmth. but i wake up and they yell at me, and make me get back into my cold bed.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Matte Elsbernd
copyright © 1995