I was only a lunatic little moth,
ambling along, airborne in the starry cloth:
the never ending night sky.
When I saw your smoke signal way up high
I tried desperately to escape,
but my freedom the wily wind did rape.
It blew me off of my preferred path
and into some sick twisted wrath.

Oh when I first saw you
made of every red, orange, and yellow hue
my barbarically tiny brain fried
and my piteously fragile wings refused to fly, no matter how hard I tried.
They beat out of rhythm.
One up and one down.
So I circled just out of reach of your flaming hair.
It flickered about, tempting me, but you did not seem to care.
Every time I got closer
the heat bothered my sensitive antennae fur.
So I flitted back and forth.
And for what it's worth,
I got scorched many a time,
in addition to the emotional pain that was already mine.

I was jealous of the wood
that was your life-time food
because I was not a fool,
I knew I could never be your fuel.
But you set my soul on fire
and surely would be my eventual pyre.

With each rise of the sun
I had to be on the run.
I was scared of its illuminating light
and had to take flight.
But in the darkness no one else saw
my all encompassing and raw
hopeless little obsession
with making you my sole and only possession.

You're driving me further insane everyday
and my short life-span is bound to end soon anyway.
So I see no more point in this futile courtship dance.
I will take my final stance.
I'll fly in and let you consume me.
Then I'll cease to be.