A moth
Attracted to a lamp
Loves the light
Enjoys the warmth
It feels the heat
Senses the burning
Yet it stays
You turn off the light
The moth leaves
Half burnt and crooked
Left to its own devices
It would linger
To be consumed
Turned to ashes
The intensity
of the light
Makes sense
to the moth
If not dead
When the light is on
It will return
To the lamp
To the warmth
To the burning
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