I look up at the moth orbiting the light in my room,

Buzzing obnoxiously as it flits around.

Spiralling, smashing into the bulb with a thud,

Darting back from the pain of the heat,

Only to return back

Over and over and over again.

What a stupid creature.

Can it not see that this is not the moon

Confined within these walls?

What draws it to that sharp sting

That whispers its demise?

I switch off the light

And the moth is gone.