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Advent Sorrow
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Like a Moth to the Flame
With flames I cure this curse.
Like a Moth to the Flame
In the beginning,
The Watcher came from light.
My vulnerable young mind
descending into pitch black night.
It came with darkness,
Horror to be seen.
Birthed from the wretched black,
and cracking reality's seam.
The Watcher whispered laughter,
and promised hope.
I try to gather courage,
but contemplate hanging from a rope.
Left alone to rot.
Just me and mother.
The Watcher taunting endlessly,
To murder one or the other.
I lost the last of myself that day.
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With no one to save me!
With flames I cure this curse.
Like a Moth to the Flame
'Mother!? What have you become?!
Your face empty, your voice betrays me!?'
The Watcher taking form of my mother.
Her face is now nothing. Her breath cold and empty.
'Imposter! Your face?! With my bare hands I will carve a smile on that face!'
My world falling before my eyes.
Tearing through soft flesh with my fingertips.
I lost the last of myself that day.
Like a Moth to the Flame.
Moments before I succumb to the devouring glow,
The Watcher returns, leaving mother's remains in smoke.
Motionless as the embers consume us both.
Its face stares without eyes and watches me choke.
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