POEM: On Candle Wax Fumes

Boredom.

That’s what’s sluggishly parading around, pervading around in my head right now.

Boredom.

So understimulated I’m getting high on candle fumes scented of

Nothing but cold dead wax.

I stare. Into the wick with no flame lit but I’m wary of burning myself on the flames of what could’ve been.

I feel the heat, and I’m not sure I can take it.

Like a dug-up decomposing body the wax fumes lead me toward my already dug-out grave

While the non-existent flickers dance new quantum vibrations of possibility onto my retinas.

Swooping to the clouds, eyes scorching like lasers through the akashic records for a solution to this

Boredom.

What did I do? Where did I go to get infected with this psychological slug weighing down on my senses?

Answers will come via my newfound hindsight from on high. Or so I hope. Let’s see:

I’d powered through gym like Judge Dredd on some legal steroid equivalent,

Dousing my veins and my brain in the ecstasy of accomplishment!

I’d made it rain at the office today,

The boss recognised my thirsty efforts and diverted the green and gold rainwater back at me!

I’d gone for a stimulating frolic in my girlfriend’s female woods and together back to base we came

Over an hour later!

So despite all these emotional highs rocketing me out of the reach of gravity why am I feeling low?

Maybe because it’s all over. I OD’ed on fiery excitement and normal life is the extinguisher

Putting me out, telling me it’s a camouflaged blessing warning me to stop before I burn out.

Heedless I am not. I’ll go cold turkey. I’ll never do it again. I’ll…

Whoa! Shit! Just remembered I promised! Promised my mates I’d join them at the club

And party from 6pm to 6am!

Time to get back on solid ground. Time to get off these candle wax fumes.

 

© One Tawny Stranger 2014

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