candle raze i am not the matchstick man you watched self-immolate after he'd served his purpose. i am flesh and bone buried alive in a box siphoning sun from the sand that surrounds it, awash in the glow of all the warmth i seldom found above ground. i'll begin to breathe again when the lid is pried loose, though the air won't taste of anything i haven't already held on my tongue too many times to tally. i am an effigy of songs unsung, my wick made wet from weeping. let me show you where the wax has worn away. see how bright the flame still burns? 250714 what's it to you? who go blather from