POETRY MENU
~*BURNT*~
He is like a moth
Drawn to her dancing flame
Exquisite in its perfection
He will not succeed
In his affairs with fiery dames
He cares not for self-preservation
He will get burnt
For nothing ever came
Through pointless worship and affection
He cannot see
That dusty moths and fiery flames
Can never be aquainted
His love is blind
He circles closer to the flames
She tries gently to deflect him
But still he circles
Closer to her hellspawn mane
His courting dance is tainted
He sees, too late
She laments, cries tears of shame
He spiralls downwards with rejection
He sees now, that love
Of illuminant, dreamy flames
Only leads to depression