The Wick
You put me out like the burning end of a midnight cigarette,
And stomped on the remaining dripping ends of the wax,
Cackling as I scream and beg you to stop,
Smirking as rope is wrapped around my limbs,
I flail, unable to move,
A dirty piece of cloth is pushed in my mouth,
I gag, I cannot speak,
So my silent screams are alive in my head,
Cracking and rebounding off my skull,
Cracks and dents shovel in my head,
And my soul shatters like broken glass and abandoned dreams,
Sobs tear through my body,
And still your lips are parted in a grin,
Pain is all a game to you,
The game where I die,
And death is just a chore,
To me,
The chore that I have put off, for too long,
But will always come back,
Begging to be completed,
Never left tranquil,
Never left collecting dust on the shelf,
Because all I am to you is a burnt out candle,
A waste, a nuisance,
So, go on, throw me away,
Just like all the others,
Because, although I thought I was different,
I’ll never be,
I’ll always just be like the others,
And our time passes…
