I remember those black nocturnal butterflies,
They were swaying beneath the airy substance of my bed.
If I told you,
You are one of those creatures
Of my sleepless past
You would not understand.
Yet not grasping this awareness
Makes you what you are.
An incomprehensible being that can not comprehend.
Mystic like your natural colour
A wild dancer,
Disclosing the aberrant pleasure of travelling through silences,
Losing touch of space,
But I will not share this information,
This story of wings
And morbid flights.
I will not remind you of your origins
My precious moth,
Antigravity will help you escape.