kindled.

Consumed by my own desire,

I lead myself to my demise,

yet your hands are tainted with my blood.

My love, I’m so sorry.

I didn’t know what it meant to burn,

nor did I know what it cost to feel your glow.

I only knew that you were beautiful,

and that I couldn’t bear not to know.

And with that foolish faith and my fragile wings,

I crossed the distance between you and I.

I came close by my own will, my love,

I alone reached for the sky.

And now I fade beneath your gaze,

you watch as I come undone.

My burning form just a flicker besides your flame,

for you shine brighter than the sun.

If only I could have left you blameless,

if only death let me choose,

I’d take my ashes with me, darling,

and leave no evidence of you.

For what is a flame to do, my dear,

but burn?

And what is a moth to do,

but yearn?

You can’t blame yourself 

for a tragedy you never planned.

You can’t be guilty for a love

you couldn’t understand.

And yet I know that when I’m gone,

you’ll tremble at the slightest wing,

you’ll dread the flutter in the dark,

you’ll fear the deaths your light may bring.

For others will come, as others do,

drawn in by your same soft gold.

They’ll fall as I fell, without a word,

and you’ll be left to hold.

But even knowing how this ends,

Please, my love, realise,

That there’s nowhere I’d rather go,

than here, beneath your eyes.

So burn, my love. Burn without shame.

Be all the things you were before.

And if my kind should find you,

know that their lives were not yours to mourn.