Mar 27, 2008 20:21
I pulled the bug out of my wine so it could fly. It's drying off now...looking at me, I think. It doesn't even have a mind to thank me. That's ok. I'm playing God and it's fun. I'm blowing gently on it, helping its wings dry. It looks ahead. It cannot remember how to fly. Just wait till you're dry. Just wait till you're dry.
I sip my wine. It still tastes the same. It may be diseased, but then again, so am I. Fly little guy, fly! I didn't save you just to die!
I can pray and hope, but I have a feeling that I'll find it dead in a few hours. Just plopped over and dried out. Poor thing. Life is so cruel, even to its most minute of creatures. The fly is frail and soft and small. But then again, so am I. So am I.
I sip my wine. It's dry in my throat. I think of a cigarette, but I cannot smoke. It would kill my family to know.
Someone should save me from drowning. Someone should blow my wings dry so I can fly.