Of Moths and Martyrs

I stand under a blank slate, A wide expanse of nightscape. The moth circles the light source The dimming lightbulb flickers once. I swirl alone in peace. I prefer to breathe in silence. I discern a brief distinction Between destiny and descent Between satire and dissent. Between repentance and regret. I dig between the lines Until the dirt beneath my nails Reveals to I and I Like a nail unto my palm, Like the moth circling the light Waiting to devour my death.