Why can't you look for a moment,
At the things you know could help?
Why instead of reaching for help do you run from it?
Does it scare you to admit fear even to yourself?
And that nothing not fame not wealth,
Could ever fix the ticking clock that says you're out of time?
But no. No. You're fine.
YOU ARE READING
Words Of A Moth Drawn To Flame
PoetryMoths come and go, This one is lost so it stays, It talks to candles but not the moon, Lost in it's own creation's maze.
