Candles too are mortal when alight. When their wicks are cold and black, candles will desire that flame in their life.   When candles bleed like us, it requires love accompanied with pain. That punishing, silent cry of dripping wax...   That bleeding light we all crave, yet...

Dark days and bright nights. That's the life of a sorrowful poet.  Away from the darkening daylight... into the light of the night I rejoice! Night owl, indeed!  I've risen like the full moon and descended like the sun. My soul bleeds ink onto the page. And...

darkness swirls around me peeking at my soulit is with great trepidation I listen to it growlsinister stirrings are alluringseeking my honesty so delicious to consumeRebellious need paints me a villainno harlot, naya poet of chance, insteadwithin the winds...

Is this what it's really come to?Branded! As if by the hot ironof baseless judgments!I know im abnormal...but my beating heart of goodis nowhere near enoughto that unknown thingcalled happiness...