Broken People

A blind moth trembles inside the lamp shade above my head,

its paper wings flap violently, desperate for an exit,

trapped in the illusion of light.

I am trapped in this cognitive skull, always looking
through these two sockets for an alternative;

I leave the light on because I haven’t finished looking

I can’t close my eyes because I haven’t finished looking.

When my sadist past makes love to me, my feelings don’t belong to me, its breath hastens and with a final thrust it cups my breast and whispers: "broken people are drawn to broken people my love."