Moths | Teen Ink

Moths MAG

June 18, 2016
By Allie Pitchon BRONZE, Buenos Aires, Other
Allie Pitchon BRONZE, Buenos Aires, Other
4 articles 0 photos 0 comments

We were moths
with paper wings and twitching,
racing insect hearts.


They’d kept us in jars for years
feeding us less


until we learned to live off air alone.
It hadn’t bothered us—though
until they let us go


and the whole world unfolded
like an open palm,
slipping secrets into the wrinkles of time


and the crinkles
between our eyes
and now we too,


could see
life in color.
The half-melted orange


the horizon turns just after sunset,
the half-thawed indigo
just before sunrise—


the way the sunburnt sky bruised and

turned crimson
that night we climbed


to the top of

the theatre rafters and just sat there
as the sky


peeled away to reveal

ugly grey streaks like tire marks—
and the splotchy red of your cheeks


when you tried to hold my hand

but missed
and barely caught my thumb


Will I chase

my days down with them?
The memories


I carry

on paper wings.
Will I wear them


every day now,

like perfume? Drink them


like poison?
Even as your twitching, racing
insect heart stops beating—


Your blood pumps through them.

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