My Moths Within

Moths that fly inside my heart,
My used heart, so numb and cold.
These moths they savour the emptiness,
The bareness that is just my heart-shaped mould.

These moths they look quite delicate,
Quite beautiful and innocent.
But they don’t care for making my heart,
A warm place of sentiment.

They can keep so still while I’m numb,
Then when I feel a glimpse of light,
They start their flying dance,
Keeping my heart away from what’s bright.

With fear and anxiety controlling,
But they are my moths now.
The only thing I have within my chest,
Maybe I will love just these somehow.