Where am I
if not stuck staring into a restless candle
that reflects my own inadequacies
yet brightens up my life
with every pulse of the unstable
and flickering light?

And as the fire rises up,
licks and caresses my face,
my body, my heart,
where do I turn?
There is never a painless walk through flame.

I have experienced this loss,
this guilt, this anguish before;
knowing it would be over soon enough.
I miserably wilt
like a vibrant blur
that is little more than a flash
in a pan of sorts.

The end may be coming,
but it burns like hell first.