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The moth’s wings tremble, a tale too true.
Once drawn to light, now trapped in a hue,
A trauma so deep, it’s all it knew.
In the crackle of Doritos, sharp and bright,
It recalls the crunch of a restless night.
Yorkshire Tea, once warm and sweet,
Now a bitter brew, where fears repeat.
It flutters in circles, can’t find the sky,
In green and blue, where memories lie.
Bound by colors, it can’t break through,
A moth in the shadows of green and blue.