Pause the words wrapped around your tongue.
Your hands tied.
But so free.


Bind me with stitches of string.
Tear me apart with the message in the bottle.


Words of a moth written on a wall of light.


Spin me a dream catcher darling, I want to sleep tonight.


And for this I pause.


With the words now wrapped around my tongue.


And for this I pause.


For a blinking cursor on a typed page of fragments.


And the delete key is looking pretty good right now.


But the contemplation of it entices me that much more.


And I’m on a string flying through a field of nothing. Turn me into something other than a moth; I want to be as beautiful as a butterfly.


Am I the one spinning in the dream catcher? Or was that just you by my bedside singing me a lullaby of disease.


And the moment never last at the sound of a click. Disconnected. Unavailable. Rejected. Failed.


And were back at square one. New conversations. Next topic.


But still the same old fragment.


Still the same spinning dream catcher.


And I wanted it all for the moment.
Just so pretending seemed like a distance, yet, true reality.


Light a candle.
And I’m alive.


Delete. Delete.


It screams to me.


But yet I’m still on that string while being disconnected at the sound of a muffled click, and I’m still spinning, and reading the words on the sign, “Square One,” as I’m trying to fly away.



Don’t speak now.




I’ve only had the beginning, and while my words are still paused. Your tongue is wrapped around mine.
And I’ve bound your hands with string.



Goodnight never seemed so much like forever. And now I wonder why.
And for this, I pause.


Giving up was never clear to me.


But neither was the sound of your voice.


Static. Silence.


New conversation.


And I set it free, you know?
The trapped moth in a box, and it flew at the taste of fresh air.




Stale. Used. Air.





I was a butterfly standing on square one.
My wings glued together.
Yet, not beautiful… just insubstantial.





Delete. Silent. Fragments.






There you were at my side.




Spinning.


And yet again I was trapped in that box.


Air. Used. Stale.


This time I was bound with string.
Hushed with a swift tongue.


Drown in a puddle with my wings still glued together.


And for your voice, I paused.
And gave up on the static of silence.


The sound of a click. Disconnected. Again.


Failed attempts.



New conversation.




Pretending the want just so we could see the distance truth.




Our hands tied. No longer free.
Torn apart with the note in the bottle.
“Giving up on you was never clear to me.”



And I’m back at square one.
Breathing in stale air.


And for the blinking cursor on a page full of fragments, I pause.



Disconnected. Unavailable. Rejected. Failed.




Delete, delete.






New conversation of a shadow flutter.
Of the words of a moth written on a wall of light.

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