You’re attracted to the façade of fame
It’s a killer that you keep going back for more
like a moth fluttering around a lightbulb
beating your wings vigorously for nothing
throwing yourself at that hot glass orb
flying blind into an artificial sun.
you exhaust the very light around which you hover
and when eventually you spiral down scorched and disillusioned-
you curse your dreams for souring the taste
of your imaginary honey.
countless fireflies are
vying for your attention.