Cloud Moth

I have a cold, I think it’s a downright joke because it’s the middle of summer, the trees are too green and the sun is baring its golden yellow teeth mocking me in perspiration that drips and persists all over my body. My head is fuzzy with cloud moths and brown beetles flapping its wings and conjuring up swing dances back and forth until all sections of my brain are left in jumbles and jittery aches.

My head is full and empty at the same time, whatever comes through leaves the backdoor like an office worker during rush hour. Talks of the future flow past me but fragments settle subconsciously making its mark to torture me when night falls, when evil in portrayal of silvery dreams invade my mind and beleaguers me until morning comes.

Feather and bird are at it again swallowing all essence of good left in the world, implementing existential sin. Venom and hate surfaces the air and hangs like the depressed and repressed ready to plummet to death. But solemn and lone perforates feather while disdain overwhelms bird, and so the end seems to be fearfully near. Don’t worry, lull this, hush that, mildew stains the windows powerfully almost as if it were rain but not quite.

Times like mildew reminds me of the good old days in front of my small pink Disney princess T.V watching the same Little Mermaid tape over and over again. The little me is good, fresh minded, unaware, and disinterested in anything but toys and frilly skirts.

The older me is waiting for the middle of summer, to get that foreboding cold, feel the mountains of heavy ice, awaiting the silent murmuring that loudens each month just as Summer passes. Until the cloud moths and brown beetles awaken to start its dance again.