DJAchtundvierzig

Today I called her a moth. Nobody believed me when I said I didn't mean it as an insult. Moths are disgustingly beautiful animals that you see dead more often than alive. I remember when I thought that moth was just a dead butterfly, a special sound used for ripping the life out of something colorful and bright. The word itself is scornful and thick and comes from Middle English mot, meaning maggot. In Spanish, she would be polilla, which sounds like a dance, and in German, she is Nachtfalter, which is a dance. I think everyone assumed I meant to insult her because it is true. She is dark and plain, and her hair is fuzzed all over. She smel

She walked down the stairs, Looking so good, She walked down the stairs Like only she could. She flipped her hair And smoothed her shirt, Traced a line on her neck, Flaunted legs in a skirt. She looked so good, Looked so fine, And all he thought Was "thank god she's mine". She smiled his way, Gave a wink, But she wasn't looking And she didn't think – Maybe it was her heels, Or maybe the stair Or maybe the fact That she was flipping her hair – But she lost her footing, She stepped too fast, She slipped on the stair And fell on her ass. Well the cafeteria was packed, And everyone saw As the prettiest girl Showed her f