Are we predisposed to all this,
an army of zombie stalkers
drawn to her as if to devour her brain,
knowing the whole time
how unhealthy is all is,
how much more intense
it gets the closer we get,
yet, we cannot resist,
aching to get back
what we never had,
never should have gotten,
and never will,
relevant only for the briefest moment,
the flash of a firefly’s tail
in the dim twilight,
always destined for it to die out
when the deep dark comes,
she plucking us up
like a child collecting us for a jar,
only to have our light
extinguished forever by dawn.
She never turns back
once she has moved on,
perhaps knowing that there
are always more of us to pluck
from the evening,
never regretting the morning after
even as we lay extinguished
at the bottom of the jar
in which we are collected.
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