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.