Candles have no need to burn when you are smiling. They are for the nightime hilltop journeys you take across the expanse between what we have done, and our dreams of the days when flowers don’t have to rely on candlelight to grow, beautiful things should not be hidden from view. This world is cavalry, we are but pawns in a kaleidoscope chess game where no two wounds are the same. Take me chalkboard hands, write upon me an all too erasable secret about how much you make my bones charge through my tattered skin. They become knights, and your shoulders their parapets of their castle, they find sovereign in your skin, lush beneath your lips, and ivory beneath your eyelids.  Color me spectrum, I am no ones and everyones to interpret. A light fueled existence, bent on sleeping in shadows. Paint me portrait, let them see my weaknesses as art. Mold my edges and intestines into something I can finally stomach the sight of. House them tightly in my chest, its called a rib cage for a reason. Kiss me keyholes, love me padlocks. Keys have been breadcrumb tracked through my forest trails, I need shelter, let me re open the doors I had slammed shut on my fortune. I squint my eyes to see through your smoke and mirrors, and I feel the remnants of dementors beneath my fingernails, my fears try and violate my everyday life, and it gets too dark to see at times. I need candles. Bottle my waxwork intentions in ship vacant tombs because people these days need more than a bottleneck letter sent by aquatic goddesses to know that they have purpose.