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.


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