Like a moth you're drawn, To the candle, In the middle of the table, Where I can't reach, But you, Can. Like a moth, You spread your dusted wings, Not heeding, My pleading cries, Head towards the candle, And are burned. I watch in horror, As your wings are burned, To a fluttering ash, Silently you suffer, Too proud to cry for help, While I, Wide eyes staring, Am confused. Like a moth you're drawn, Like a page, I'm torn. Bits of your burnt wings, Bits of my torn self, Fall to the ground, Dancing eerily in the soft candlelight, Twirling, Swirling, Dying. A white corpse, Twitching on the floor, I want to help, But now my pride, Bruised and bloody, With it's last bit of strength, Screams "NO!" "Don't help, let him suffer, he hurt you, now hurt him." But I can't. I try to help you, I try to gently pick you up, Dust you off, And send you on your way. You won't let me