Something’s buggin’ me… I don’t know if it’s wings… or antennas… or the velvet kiss of pollinating bees… Something’s buggin’ me Wings beating inside my skull Antennas threading through my thoughts Like static dressed in silk and lull I wandered in to pass the time An antique mall of fading breath But the air clung like a chapel hymn And every aisle rehearsed a death They waited there on velvet walls Gilded halos, lacquered divine Tiny bodies turned to jewelry Frozen mid-flight, right on time Collectors drifted, soft and pale With careful hands and reverent eyes Selling silence dressed as beauty Perfumed in curated lies Grab a jar A pin A net Something small enough to forget They call it “specimen” (beat pause) I call it— (whispers) theft Something’s buggin’ me And it ain’t just curiosity It’s beauty with a body count A polished little atrocity The bug collectors all adore Beetles gleaming, moths in ecstasy, dragonflies They poached the shimmer from their eyes And called it art… They called it art… (whispers, circling) Don’t move… don’t move… don’t move… There’s a dragonfly in cobalt glass A stained-glass prayer for summer’s ghost Pinned so clean it almost smiles Like it never knew what air had cost A moth in powdered velvet dusk Its wings still dusted soft with regret A label reads “rare condition” As if death improves it yet Catalogued and cross-referenced Beauty filed and sealed away Tiny legs like fractured commas In a sentence they won’t say And I swear their hollow eyes Pressed through resin, cold and still Watching me - too warm, too breathing Like I’d failed to learn the kill Grab a jar A pin A net Make it quiet, make it perfect They don’t want the frantic flutter They don’t want the pulse exposed They want you soft They want you still (whispers) decomposed Something’s buggin’ me And it ain’t just curiosity It’s beauty with a body count A polished little atrocity The bug collectors all adore Beetles gleaming, moths in ecstasy, dragonflies They poached the shimmer from their eyes And called it art… They called it art… (whispers, wider, more voices) Don’t move… don’t move… don’t move… [beat drops to upright bass, distant strings, sparse harpsichord] I saw myself behind the glass Price tag tightening at my throat Shellacked smile, perfectly still A living thing reduced to note I felt the pin before it touched Like memory rehearsing pain My pulse went still to please the frame My breath… a stain They don’t want wild They want arranged They don’t want flight They want contained The iridescent lie preserved The living truth disposed So if I twitch beneath your gaze Don’t call it fear (whispers rising) It’s instinct learning how to disappear Something’s buggin’ me Like a prayer with shattered anatomy Like angels with their wings torn clean For somebody’s fragile vanity The bug collectors all adore Beetles gleaming, moths in ecstasy, dragonflies They poached the shimmer from our eyes And called it art… They called it art… (whispers layered, chaotic stereo) Don’t move… don’t move… don’t move… Something’s buggin’ me… And I think it learned my name.
