The candle's flame is still in the night.
The silence should scare me but it feels just right.
There is no wind. There is no fear.
There's only the candle standing there.
I hear the music, it's amazing sounds.
My feet feel so light upon the ground.
If I wanted to, I could fly.
I would sleep on clouds and dance in the sky.
If gravity stopped right where you were standing,
would you have any intention in the future of landing?
Some might hang on to a leaf or a branch,
to make sure they don't stray to far from their path.
Im not sure what I would do.
I don't know if I would hang on. Would you?

I am the color of snow
If snow could tan only slightly.
I melt like snow,
I dissolve into puddles and pitfalls,
And no one knows where to find me
On the dark days.

I wake like a candle,
Slow, flickering, wavering.
I burn like a candle,
Bright only in the darkest of times,
I wallow in my self pity,
I adore my deepest pain,
And no one needs me quite like they used to.

I sing when no one can see me,
And dance when none will hear me.
I find my greatest attributes in the loneliest parts of me -
The starving artist well fed by fear of living a full life,
Fear of feeling loved and being loved
And being alone
All at once.

I am the texture of the dark
When the sun and the moon
Elope on the sidelines
Somewhere else in the universe,
The time of day when the sky is empty,
And the time of day
When stars lose all meaning
And no one really cares who is awake
Because it is only me.

I am the creak of a house
That is empty and always has been.
I am the big empty house
Where no man or woman or child dwells,
Only spiders, only spirits.
Only me.

Like silent rafts in trodden streams
The candle's fire fights through the wind
Unconquerable by gusts of melancholy
It never extinguishes and the water gleams.

The soul of a young girl captains the vessel
Her fear diminished, though grave it is
And the home nearby makes a dreadful noise
With her nightmarish life, she continues to wrestle

And the flame of the candle must breathe as well
The air of the heart of the fire is of inky smoke
That girl's life was a living Hell
And from her nightmare she never awoke

But she still lives on in the dim, red flame
The burst of light in the wick is just the same
And the silent, paper rafts with the candles in the stream
To this day navigate, to the hopeful, still they gleam

she said
"my clothes are beings of their own
they come and go
as they please
but in your eyes
they melt from me
like wax from а candle"