To Build A Fire...
Why does your fire not burn for me?
So many others cloaked in vibrant warmth
Yet here I sit on the cold dark edge of sanity
Gazing into an empty blackened hearth
Filled repeatedly with the dissipating smoke of matches spent…
Passionately stoked you have been with such colorful kindling:
Little brown pharmacy bottles like hollowed out logs of failed intent
Weak acknowledgement of wretched night dwindling
So cruel in length without;
Morning comes slowly and bitter cold