The candle died in choking air,

The wick still breathes a poisoned prayer,

A fetid smoke, obscene and thick,

A crimson dot in endless blackness flicks.

Within my soul the fire fell,

No warmth remains where life once dwelt,

Only a spark of bitter blame

Condemns my fate in smoke and shame.

I fade… I burn without a flame,

I rot beneath remembered days,

I dreamed of light — it lied to me,

Now I decay in silent grief.

The suffocating fumes of past

Float overhead, too dense to pass,

Above a mind that still believed

In better hours yet to be.

And now I know — too late, too clear,

My hope was fraud, my path severe,

I linger here, a useless ember,

Alive — yet dying to remember.

I fade… I burn without a flame,

A wasted spark, a hollow name,

This mournful moment lets me see:

I smolder — nothing left of me.

The wick still smokes.

The dark still stays.

I understood —

Too late… too late.