I am burning the candle at ends I didn't previously know existed.
This shit's like a hydra, every time I burn an end, two more grow.
This candle has more ends than angels have eyes. And they are all burning at once.
I am a fire hazard.
This candle has become some indescribable horror, a visage so far beyond comprehension that I am frothing at the mouth whenever I dare utter its description. A vile conscience that has awoken to discover an insect dares to contain it via metaphor into a constraint it does not desire and it has begun to *thrash*
I fear the discovery that this candle is me, I am this candle, and with each burning another piece is forever lost as vapor into some empty space beyond my reach, and with each click of the lighter something primordial in the weave of this thread-thin wick flinches
But it's, like, whatever. I got shit to do. Fuckin' light the whole lump of wax, let's go
What the fuck have you people done to my candelabra?
I mean, if you just keep going it will eventually be a sphere and it's fine.
Is that where stars come from?
I don't know, but it sounds like a great opportunity for me to definitely learn the wrong lesson here!




















