A Ghostly Flame

I sink into the turbulent seas of my unconscious,
Current threatening to pull me into the unknown.
I flail, frantically seeking something, anything, to shield me from myself.
The darkness presses down on me, cold and judging.

And then I see a flame.
A small, flickering ember that cuts through the darkness like a hot knife through butter.
I reach out, desperate, and the flame reaches back,
Extending its frail tendrils towards me in a soothing gesture.

I pull myself from the cold void, cupping the little flame in my hands,
And I blow gently.
I nurse my flame back to life, fixating on it like it is the last thing in the world.
Perhaps it is.

It seems like an eternity has passed,
But my flame now dances merrily in my palms,
And I hold it close, guarding it like a secret,
Like the last light in a fading world.

The ember swells, spinning into a ghostly fire,
The only light in this infinite darkness,
The darkness that only presses closer,
Watching, waiting, for a moment of weakness.

But the flame dances on, in my palms with an otherworldly grace.
In this moment, it is everything – heat, light, life –
And I relish it, drinking in every last drop it has to give.
I relax at last, sinking into its embrace, and for a fleeting heartbeat, I am whole again.

Yet just as I surrender to its soothing glow,
The darkness lashes out, sharp and cold, a single breath of a shadow.
And it takes the flame with it.
It takes my flame with it.
A single tendril of smoke curls up,
And the darkness doesn’t swallow it, a small mercy,
Yet also a cruel reminder of what I could have had.
I watch the ghost of my flame make its way up, up, until I could no longer see it.

The darkness closes in yet again,
Sneering at me maliciously as it stalks toward its prey.
I shiver against the frigid air.
It’s cold again.