tonight I killed a moth and I’m still sad about it by Mercuri Lam (16, Texas)

[Content Warning: death]

Moths flock to my windowsill and it’s like their ritual to
     Dance above my bed, above my body. They are like strippers

Who reek of disharmony and broken-prettiness. My
     Grandmother told me that moths bring renewal, yet nothing

Seemed to change as they mated above my eyes in darkness,
     I suddenly remember sixth-grade biology, when Mrs.W-something-

I-cannot-remember brought a case of moths to class, each pinned
     To the board and so lifelike I thought they would start flying. One

Lands on me and I scream. I wake up the hallway that was drowsy with
     Dreams and I scream and I scream and I scream again until my hand

Finds its way to a water bottle somewhere and I whack it out of my
     Misery. The moth drops and its wings spread out like old pin-ups and I am,

For a split second, somewhat grateful. Then the reality catches up to me
     And I wish I was the moth. When I'm dead just throw me in the trash,

I miss the stench of sex appeal above my eyebrows. Renewal is a false promise for
     Both the moth and me and I am still sad I killed it. Death is not a beautiful thing,

But
     it is permanent and nothing I can do will change anything, so I sleep again,

And let horny moths dance above me once more.