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...

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...

Two hearts, both alike in rhythm,share a tomb - a tomblike existence, indeed! While our meetings are forbidden!A place where no one will suspect us.And within this tomb we share lips.

It was slow, agonizingly slow!When every candleflame that showshow you pulse with spirit and life,is pinched out by the very fingersof someone who once loved you! Love lost brought a cold, dark wick. Some smoke still sputters in defiance!Could that...