Re-post: Dir en Grey - Macabre.mp3
Moths and butteflies
It's my favorite song. I can't run away from it.
I wonder when my obsession with bugs started. WTF bugs. Maybe it's because they're a part of my room - all the crickets, dragonflies, bees, beetles, eventual roaches. Maybe because my mother had a book full of pictures of creepy hideous weird bugs and I used to go through the pages over and over, hypnotized by their shapes, their nasty legs, their horrifying heads, their awkward wings. Maybe that's why I was the one who killed every single flying roach that entered my house. Or because.
Maybe that's why I love butterflies, but I'm charmed by moths.
Maybe that's why I can touch so many bugs without getting nauscious.
My fear is we change places and suddenly they get big and I get small.
Bugs, bugs everywhere. My fever hallucinations are _BUGS_. Bugs all over me. Roaches running over my face. Beetles flying inside my sweater. And suddenly I start growing butterfly wings - but, NO! They're trying to get me. I'm not a butterfly. I'm a brown, giant, clumsy moth.
But even worse than a moth or butterfly, I was a caterpillar, I'm sure. And my wings won't spread, so I guess I'm half way there. Forever.
Maybe some bird caught me when I was pupating. Maybe that bird is me, too.
My heartbeats are like the initial (and final) drums, and I can't run, because I'm stuck in the dream of becoming a butterfly. And the bird wonders whether he/she will eat me or not. My wings are sticky. They disintegrate like wet paper. My wings are nothing.
I'm swimming in the stomach of a bird. I'm swimming in my chrysalid. I'm swimming in my dream, I'm sinking in my dream, dreaming forever, and the bird swallows everything, and I'm no longer me, but the memory of a dream inside an empty casket.
intostars , thank you for saving it.