Like a moth to a flame
ignoring the sensation of pain
pulling, attracting, calling forth
What is this thing that holds
refusing to let go
quicksand encloses
struggling, it holds tighter still
pulling down to its very core
Raindrops pour down
desert is quench
a sigh is echoed
A voice is heard in a distance
heartbeat accelerate
blood rushes, pulse quicken
knees shaking
like a moth to a flame
burning pain forgotten
nudge to remembrance
quicksand, the struggle begins
the hold tightens
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