Imperfect specimen (poem)

So I’ll dance to you like a moth does to a flame,
you keep burning off my wings,
and leave me barely crawling away…
Burning up, crashing down,
even when you tried to catch me, I fell right through the net,
which I wasn’t sure was even meant to catch as much as captivate.
I’m an imperfect specimen that you became bored of studying,
write me off in your book-
Another number for you to tally.
You plucked my wings off like a child does petals off of a flower,
leaving me on “she loves me” before walking away from the carnage.