I see people praying around me, but not for me.
My flame wavers, but there is no protection from gusty winds and unseasonal rains.
They derive hope from me, but do not recognise the agony within.
Colour bursts are captured in two-dimensional images, circulated and glorified, but the depth of my existence remains unexplored.
I empower darkness with my exit, but it shows no gratitude or recognition – just strengthens its multiple layers of being.
Molten wax has many more stories to tell, but I scrape it off to clear my conscience.