A candle lodged in a keyhole
Its wax dripping
Ruining the carpet below
The lock closed fast
As the flame moves forward
Painful inch by painful inch
Towards the wooden door.
There's a chance
A good chance
That such a little flame
Will die before it
Reaches its destination
Hours spent grasping this hope
Holding it up to the light
Until it shines like truth
The inward glow
Of self deception shining out
Into the hall
As the door burns away
With the room
And the beating heart
Inside.
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