Wasted Words

My candle
lights my breath
Dripping down and burning off
like the remnants of my self-respect

A tie of cloth
Some cheap bargain-bin ribbon
To adorn this gift
and wear dirt on my sleeve
where my heart used to live

Built up tasks
like a ziggurat
Footstool of the Gods 
to rest their weary heels
when they tire of crushing
new hearts overflowing with vibrant thoughts 

A blade with an edge
of dancing flowers 
Petals like pillows
upon the altars of death and dreams so vivid
that they can scarcely tell us apart

I step down from this podium
to escape a sea of unphased faces
to find my own atop the rubbish heap
of things best... left ...

Forgotten.