Flickering Out
2021-03-24

***

The wax pulses down
like an open wound,
a devilish smile opened
in a girl dying too soon.

Blue blood curdling
once hit the glass floor,
air pockets exposed,
red rings open sores.

A wick that burns all too fast
dilapidated spine,
head singed through, lungs diffused,
no longer able to opine.

The bottom drips cut off,
a mannequin without legs,
smooth rump, top half missing,
burning the last of the dregs.

What was once a cheerful face
is now a murky puddle
at my brassy feet.
A fading all too subtle.

***

CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander