“I Feel Tired And Lonely”

As Moth Is Drawn To A Flame

Attraction

like a moth to a flame

Irresistible

to the glitters of gold, to a

desire for sensuous beauties

From a harmless candle

to a dangerous fire

Folded eyes long for light

from faint familiarity

to rogue recognition

Stimulation

by an arousing emotion

Destruction

awaits the wild imagination

as thoughts lead to actions

Fools

choose deliberately

a wit without wisdom

Popularity draws the young

as Moth is drawn to the Flame

©Johnny J P Lee

13 December 2024

Gogyoshiren Poem (20)

Photos: Unsplash Images

I'm pretty sure it's like that when I send screens/talk about story/lore to my friends xd

How my Limbus posts probably sound to my non-Project Moon fan mutuals

Bleebus Blorbus the Flesh-Rending Giraffe is a metaphor for childhood neglect and toxic relationships, which is very fitting how its E.G.O. Skin-Eater went to Tom Sawyer. Skin-Eater Tom Sawyer synergizes really well with Ten-o-Clock Flash Mob Office Fixer Tom Identity for Bleed and Rupture damage and may also give her ties to The Hat Man in her upcoming Canto.

Do you ever begin a project, make some starting steps (write some code, opening paragraph, draw some lines etc) and next day you wake up you suddenly don't have that spark, that ebb which drove you to starting? Your ideas gone, and you still kinda want to do it, but there's next to no drive?

There is a hidden softness to the winter, though, like the underbelly of an old matted cat.

Fragile Animals, Genevieve Jagger

Imitate

You run

And I follow

But the chasing I do

Has left me hollow

The fog creeps in,

thick like breath

on a window,

the hills fold

into themselves,

and I am

somewhere else

while the red bridge

cuts through the mist

like a wound

that has yet to heal

no longer that cold-running fear that       lonely my hands would droop and wrinkle so flat they would never       lift or hold the world again

Inverted Vertigo

Nostalgic Embrace.

I live in nostalgic comfort while I exist in your embrace.

I am ten years old.

It’s past my bedtime time.

I fell asleep on the couch watching my favorite movie.

In my father’s arms I’m carried up the stairs.

Sinking to sleep in the gentle sway.

My body relaxing once I feel my mattress.

The peace and comfort.

The feelings identical,

As if one was a prelude to the other.

Every day I am

Discovering something new

My branches expand

Every season isn't spring

I allow myself to rest