Titles are Overrated

Part 47

Is it wrong

to love

the chaos,

as the cold wind

loves to snuff out

every flame? 

There's something

in being so close

to death,

brushing its finger down my lip,

as the blown out flame's wick

is sealed in it's own wax. 

So close that life

pulls me back,

and the wax over

the candle's wick

is melted by another flame.

Another light,

another chance

to burn. 

But I think

I'd rather freeze. 

catch my death of cold