I cut myself in a piece of broken marriage.
I bled for years, almost I lost my hope. One day I took the courage to deeply push into my past of you, and clean it all.
I amputated who I was. I woke up today, a fragile prostate of tomorrow, to walk my way.

You gave me light, you brought me life, I’m here for you until I’ll melt and die. I’ll keep you company with my flame, I’ll dance for you as much as I can, in rounded shapes,  from left to right, maybe some wind will help me out. I put my best fragrance on me, to fresh the air around you. Just move me slightly in a spot so I can feel your skin touching my wax. And all my oily body texture will last, in your sensory mind, after the dark conquer my bright. By tomorrow I’ll disappear, so stay with me, don’t leave the room, you are the one for which I am, and I’m afraid.

Last night I waxed my past; I pulled my stories out from my clouded memories, and dumped them on bluish sheet of paper facing me. All I needed was the brightness of a flame, riding a candle, pouring into a soul more acute at night. I was worried about the pain, so I used a red wine based topical solution, just to numb fear.

The crack of dawn flanked a tired candle, a broken bottle and a piece of paper torn to bits. Tonight I’ll wax again.

I’m a fermentation of knowledge sold as wisdom by a drunk intellect, a box of desires kept under a cold pillow, a cry and a smile of a forgotten child, a triumph of past in the moment, a division of flesh squashed by the wave of time, a mystic dream whipped by awareness.

Or maybe I’m not. Otherwise just a concept, a definition of a complex human being drifted away from the flow of words.