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