A moth flew in to

Our home last night

Lured by the light

And false sense of warmth

Could it change its course?

The glow from the candle I lit

Belied the cold that hung in the air

Of screaming realizations

Of I no longer care

Of silent I hate You's

Of biting my tongue

Of giving my all

Of protecting my young

From who?

Now Towards the end,

Of losses and wins

Your persona takes on a sort of

Picture of Dorian Gray,

only there was no painting in our closet

to bear the brunt of your sins.

The creases and crevices and sun-damaged face

Take on an evil that time can’t erase

as if your efforts to hide how you felt

could no longer be contained

festering behind your gold-lensed Gucci aviators

No more restrained.