Flame
Every time I reach out,
I feel the heat pulsing on my hand.
The closer my hand gets,
the more pain I feel.
Yet, I keep trying to reach out
hoping one day my hand won’t burn
from the flame that embodies something that isn’t there.
All I can feel is the heat from the scars of the past,
but my heart feels cold and numb
like I’ve been through this all my life.
Deep down,
I know the candle will eventually burn out.
At least I tried, right?
The chill that goes down my lifeless spine
is the same chill I hope you would feel
when there is nothing else to burn
and there is no one there to reach out.
I will be looking at the wax on my hands
and hearing the wind blow through the hallways
of memories held together with tears and guilt.
The same wind that will finally,
blow out your flame.
