Candle
I look at the scars on my hands, reminiscing on the time we shared together.
I have forgotten what touch feels like, blisters and burns now blanket where the wax has fallen.
Deformed, scarred, I cast the candle you had blown out. For it has burned me for the last time.
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DedKat
Born in the North, raised in the south. Can't help but note the contradiction in the depiction. Would like to let my work whisper for itself.
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