Flocking back to old thoughts: a moth at the light.
Unquestioning regrets in a questionable state
Restless and confused on the off-course of my fate.
Suddenly spinning, as a plane plummets down
Mute as a mime with the frown of a clown.
A years-old scab to be pick pick pick picked
symptoms surrounding the still uncured sick.
Though I knew it was wrong, this fight I'd not fight.
Flocking back to old thoughts: a moth at the light.
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