Like A Moth, To A Flame

Breaths in and breaths out,

But she gasped for air inside.

Her soul felt breathless,

Her perpetuity ran dry.

And it was as if somebody was sucking

Out of her fragile little body,

Every bit of life,

Or maybe as if,

Everything that she took in,

Was nothing, But poison.

She couldn’t afford to lose more tears,

For she was a desert,

Already on the inside.

Craving for every little drop,

Drop by drop

But she couldn’t hold it in,

For every tear she shed,

A part of her died.

And that’s how it is,

Life and death do hurt,

But she feared none.

Her worse nightmares were now, nothing but reality.

It’s just the transition that would hurt.

Her blood was an angry shade of red,

Burning the soul of whoever would stop by to look,

There was fire and life, and death and deific .

But so many sentiments,

Such a fragile body cannot embrace it well.

She was just a little girl,

Not more than two decades old.

Such a blissful soul,

You cannot expose it to the darkest of sensations,

You cannot expect it to feel passions and delights,

And then deal with the worst of emotions,

And move on .

You Can’t .

You’re asking for too much.