I hear the moth caught in the stickied light trap

Unable to cry out in a way that I can hear

 

But the frantic beating of fluffed wings buffets my heartstrings just as well

 

I ache for it, feel sorrow that it suffers

But rejoice as the plug in works just as intended

 

And now the moth cannot make demons from the shadows

Cannot ambush my peace in the twi-lit kitchen

 

This creature suffers because I protected my serenity

Do I feel guilty about her pain, or about standing up for my tranquility?

 

Setting boundaries with words goes nowhere

Using other means feels like war

 

Im not sacrificing my sense of safety

To keep you flying high, moth(er)