a disease is what grows where/when it shoudlnt. it gets bad when you can stop it and yet you do nothing about it, letting the lethargy it lends cover you in excuse, a cushion to the fall.
, like a moth drawn to a flame, circling its love the flame, till the flame consumes it. one flight too close to the flame, and ends up dead.
like two lovers, each a moth drawn to the other, love that was never to be, love doomed from the start, just to burn a wing here a wing there. the lover the flame the doom.
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