The light in his hands that he held so proudly has been tainted with ash and chemical fumes. Once a beacon of hope to all who encountered his light no longer shines and the boats crash into shipwreck on the rocky shore. The flicker of flame still remains fuelled by lust and blood. He walks on a glass path feet cut to ribbons with each step asking not for direction or help for he is strong in his own right. Each day blends into week into month the pain becomes normal, this is what he wanted what he needs he cannot reach out for fear of distance. A new flame must not be lit. The old still remains waiting to be ignited, the old man brings him kindling but this instead of bark he brings poison ivy. The flame explodes bringing love into his soul tasting the sweet nectar he had grown accustomed to in its hay-day.

He continues to walk enchanting the on goers with his song, each lie helps to blind him from the truth. If faced with an ultimatum his flame will extinguish leading to anguish and loss of hope. What choice does he have but to walk on the glass and look back on his previous paths lined with pillows. Look to the future they tell him and he does and sees more glass he cannot be consoled not yet. For he is stuck in the web not only he has spun but others have joined. Entrapping him for their own if not from malice but from foolishness to believe he has bandaged his feet and ignited a new flame. He knows how to lie he has done it before a masquerade of beauty never showing his scars for to hide bruises was his job.

The tears drip on his flame for he cries for its absence. Its fading and will soon snuff out and he fears so will he as if this is how life is to live. Then why walk on pillows if they lead to glass.


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