a candle burning fades low and grey. it
has lost its violence, its passions, its
life. wax tears sluice down the
remainder of its body, raising rigid
scars from surface wounds,
shivering till it spills over. a feeling
unlike a feeling rises with smoke
and chokes on itself, its formless fumes.
the candle does not know itself as it did
before. it raises a cry, more wildfire
than lilting flame, just to hear an echo
in the forgotten room. one puff and I'll
collapse, the voice screams, dark and
cooling. one puff and I'll breathe
my last, it insists to the hardening gloom.
so it goes, into the ancient silence.
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