Burnt-Out

Burnt-Out

My head is a candle 

lit aflame. 

Hot wax oozes

down from my crown 

to my face 

like so many burning,

reeking tears, 

searing angry red tracks 

into my cheeks.

Any moment now, 

the fire will catch on to you, 

and still you stand here, 

hands cupped over 

my dying flame, 

because my warmth 

is all you have these empty days.

And though your eyes 

are watering 

with the acrid smoke,

though the odor of charred skin 

swims down your throat, 

somehow, you uphold 

that the mess I am is sweet, 

even as you

look at me so tentatively, 

because all you really 

want to see is my light, 

however fleeting it may be.