Advent Sorrow - Like a Moth to the Flame

With flames I cure this curse.
Like a Moth to the Flame

In the beginning,
the Watcher came from light.
My vulnerable young mind
descending into pitch black
night.
It came with darkness,
horror to be seen.
Birthed from the wretched black,
and cracking reality's seam.
The Watcher whispered laughter,
and promised hope.
I try to gather courage,
but contemplate hanging from a
rope.
Left alone to rot,
just me and mother.
The Watcher taunting endlessly,
to murder one or the other.

I lost the last of myself that day.
With no one to save me!
With flames I cure this curse.
Like a Moth to the Flame
“Mother!? What have you
become?!
Your face empty, your voice
betrays me!?”
The Watcher taking form of my
mother.
Her face is now nothing. Her
breath cold and empty.
“Imposter! Your face?! With my
bare hands
I will carve a smile on
that face!”

My world falling before my eyes.
Tearing through soft flesh with
my fingertips.
I lost the last of myself that day.
Like a Moth to the Flame.

Moments before I succumb to
the devouring glow,
The Watcher returns, leaving
mother’s remains in smoke.
Motionless as the embers
consume us both.
Its face stares without eyes and
watches me choke.