Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

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Tag: moths

Social Moth

Social butterfly? No, a moth. Daytime, I wriggle and slip in-between and dissipate. The social lubrication ushers me; my smile, unfaltering, propels me. I hang from the ceiling. I rub up to people with the grease of a well-oiled machine. We intergrin, anecdotize, thank each other for the pleasant company.

Nighttime, whenever night is, all this liquid wavers within me, leaks out through my pores. I toss, turn. I never sleep. I hang from the ceiling, all my water rushing to my head. All my blood at the edge of my skin. I rotate. I burn my sheets after sleeping.

Aching for You to Eclose

You were a nervous kid in winter; not anymore. You have wrapped yourself in so many layers of protective silk that you can’t breathe. You won’t let me in, you won’t let anything out. You think your heart is a cocoon, but you failed biology quite catastrophically and one day your chest will hatch. A million moths will escape you and as long as their wings beat your blood will pump, sure, but the moths belong to everyone who was ever nice to you. Every time someone dies, your pulse will slow. And I am waiting for spring to come.