*Warning this poem may be triggering to some. Reader discretion is advised*

It flies,

covered by darkness, 

as that is

what it's used to.

But then,

It sees light

a concept

long forgotten.

It doesn't know

what to do,

doesn't know how

to feel.

So,

It flies closer

lured by a false

sense of security.

The new found warmth

becomes more intense

to a warmth like that of...

fire...

It cant sense

the danger,

cant sense

the pain

because

it's so close to

this new thing and

it thinks this is

normal.

It  doesn't know

it's dying.

It reaches the

foreign object

and falls.

Only now does it

realize,

this new thing was a

negative.

R.I.P 

The Moth

The moth to the flame

was as I

am to you.