Moth they say that you eat clothes.
And although I don't believe that
I'm sorry, but I must destroy you.
Since this is the room where I sleep,
my mouth open in the dark,
my sense of touch at rest until morning.
I have nothing against your thrilling shades
of gray and black. And neither do I hate
your thick and odd shaped frame.
I would simply like to live out my life,
memoryless of the taste of your wing powder.
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