Candle
I say my lines
like they are meant to be said,
and I can’t help but wonder
who I am, and why
do I tell you
what you’d like to hear,
instead of what I’m dying to say?
As I write by the light of one sweet, solemn candle,
and strain to see my words
I am brought to my knees
by my own weaknesses
Forever once my flame,
and twice my burn
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