Sometimes I light this place up like a church. Candles on every surface.
You shouldn’t trust flames in your sleep but I do. I’ve always known I won’t die that way.
Or maybe that’s a lie. Maybe I’m tempting fate. Or seeking destruction through apathy.
The candles burn and I dream of fire.
Of rising from the ashes of who I was into a better world (a not-broken life).
I wake disappointed.