here i am, holding this light
for you, wrapping my fingers
around that long white candle,
trying to tend its flame.
i don't really remember
where this candle came from,
but i know i must keep it lit,
just for a little while longer,
even if does singe my pride.
i hiss, submissively savouring
the burn of the hot wax,
as it drips down my shaky hands.
the white trophy cries wax tears
that dry and stick to my skin.
eventually, they will flake off.
i shouldn't really complain
because i shed these tears myself;
in my swaying attempts to set
some toothpick aflame, to bring
something to my lips to smoke..
to the elevation
of my consciousness.
i search my room for an alternative,
for a candle that will keep burning.
the other bright devices i have collected
[the collective] have all burned out;
their wicks have broken off and
i'm not sure how to dig them out.
lets face it, the pocket torches
always run out of fuel..
or someone 'accidentally',
casually, pockets your spark.
so tell me, do you really
want or need to keep buying
into that source of light?
