I feel like a candle.
Slowly melting because of the small, ignited flame by the wick.
Letting the heat go on will cease me to my extinction and purpose
But the same outcome also happens if the flame is extinguished.
Do I live with a purpose for others and die?
Or do I save myself and still die?
YOU ARE READING
late night poems
Poetryhad insomnia, can't sleep, don't want to start, do, or finish homework? wrote a poem. sometimes prompts. sometimes with music. maybe would help me. maybe not. random thoughts. 3 am. rain. sad playlist. expressing self.
