wrapped myself in a cocoon of pain and misery, the ugliest caterpillar turning into the strangest moth

writhing in the blanket chrysalis, begging for an end, a halt, a moments peace from the nails driven into soft flesh

in this moment of singular despair

even the words left me, my constant companions, they swept from the broken shell and sought out new vessels

leaving silent contemplating of the nuances of agonizing hushed murmurs and pleas for the cacophony of meaning again

as i wept, for i am not a strong man, as i begged for understanding, for i am not a smart man, no answer came

yet, at my weakest, in a dream she came, we talked in that distorted meaningless dream way where the words are not real

and i burst free of the uncomfortor, the sheets stained with sweaty thrashings and felt my wings unfurl lightly

my antennae twitched as they tasted the air ripe with new meanings, and the glorious tide of words flooded again

the vision of her in my head, fresh from dream, giving new understanding to why moths fly into the brightest lights

it is what we are made for, to find that which pulled us through and unheeding of danger propel ourselves towards it

even if that means being burnt to a cinder, even if it was just a dream brought on by fever and pain, even if