Poetry Slammed

This candle is lighting my world.
This world is quiet...a little damp.
But this is my world
in the world of open windows
and leaky roofs
and empty houses
and empty dreams
and empty candles to wet to light.

This candle lit for me
and this candle is lighting my world.

Forget this time I spend alone
with my world being lit
by the raindrop's pitter-patter
on the shingles. Those shingles keeping warmth
for the rats in the walls.
The rats that have stolen my warmth.
Those rats are warm and I am cold.

This room is hollow with my heart.
Forget me too. ...in this room.

I am leaving this room.
I don't know where I'll go or
even with whom I'll go.
A moth to lead my light and follow
my eye's hopeful desperation in the months
I've spent alone in this empty, hollow
room.

I light the match.
This last match has lit and
I am leaving this place of rats and hate.
The cold is too much for me now, and
so I light this candle and
I am about to leave
with this candle
lighting my world.

But my world turns dank
when you open that door.

You left too long ago...
and you've put out my light again.

This room is dark again...
This light is gone...again...
And this poem is the only light in my world.

This poem is the light of my world.

This poem has lit my world.