My heart is made of candle wick.
Each time someone lights a fire in me it shrinks.
I shrink, I become less.
The hot wax drips down my cheeks and I am liquid.
I lay on the floor, a puddle
with charcol staining my veins.
No one sees me unless I have a flame.
I solidify and someone lights me up again.
I pretend I love fire just so someone can use me again.
No one sees me unless I am burning.