The Moth Spiralling
Now the trees glaze green
Letting go of the spleen
(the closers to the light, the more clear things seem, illumination)
One of the many possible endings
– the one I burn
Will my wings melt?
Will the wax wane? (l o l)
Sinking (too passive) in darkness I choose /// albo: ...again
/// albo: let go of the fear / fly, my dear / farther on...
On the path to redemption
Finding yourself on the way to destruction
How to trust the light
When you’re gliding in the darkness
Of own jungle of senses