moths && butterflies [ poetry ]

[ fallen down ]

no one wants to get knocked off the pedestal.

but it is the most beautiful thing.

the gold dripping away from your bare feet,

flames picking at wings crafted of leaf paper

as you are thrown down into the galaxy abyss.

clouds brushing against rain-kissed skin

the stars grasping at your feet.

hurdling towards the unknown,

angels dancing at your loss

even if it took an eternity

to crawl your way back to the top

you would not care

for you would do anything

to hold hands with the constellations once more.

———

a / n : this wasn't a poem, more of a ramble lol