Insult

I was a black firefly
buzzing through the
room like a machine,
Flittingly enfolding unto you
my filmy wingspan's silken sheen,

Until, of course, you swatted,
burnt me a shade of blue,
told me I was dim, that my
outer rims of luminescence
Didn't exist.

At other times, you tell
me different, that I glow
like nothing before me.

In those moments,
you make me
Harken back to the days when
I was a darkening glass vase, my sunken
Hue painted by the fallen sky's crying face.