Fire and Some crows

Bring me burning candles for breakfast,
     a flask of gasoline to chase my green tea,
     allow me to dry swallow your smoldering cigarette,
     slip an ember or two in my scrambled eggs,
     hide a few match heads in my melatonin.

Scorch me and torch me,
     warm your hands over flames erupting
     from my empty, immolated remains.
     I am tired and dark,
     due for the pyre.

I am become Prometheus
     Stealing fire from the gods,
     to ignite my bleak soul once more.
     But lately I just fend off crows
     and rub sticks together in penance.