May 27, 2004

I'm the moth whose wings you reveled at. Dusty earth on fumbling fingertips. Flightless now, my magic spilling on the delicate nails your wiped on a simple t-shirt. Blends with the dirt that's caked there.

What I was - a beautiful creature that would let the wind carry me away. My wings were the only escape from this place. The only salvation.

Stolen like the dreams of children.

I used to dream in color.

But I am now flightless, my dreams a blur of monochromatic distortion. Without wings I am nothing more than a bug under the heels of your shoes.

I ache for immortality. Perhaps in that long darkness I can become real.

Crucify me through that which I treasured most. And I shall dance for you until these feet can carry me no further - my red shoes worn thin.

Find a beauty that has faded in Time's passing. Or simply look down; stains of dust.

The box knows the secret that the world will never find.