On The Edge Of A Gust Poem by Daniel Ryan Cotler

I am a candle
burning,
but too thin to last,
too soft to withstand the storm.

Each word you spoke
was a gust,
each lie you told
was a gale,
tearing the flame from my soul,
reducing me to nothing but a flicker
in the cold.

You loved me, you said
but love is not a gust,
not a wind that burns
and pulls at the wick,
snuffing the warmth
before it ever had a chance.

Your love is a dark wind,
a storm designed to drown me,
to turn my light to ash,
to make me disappear
before I even knew I was fading.

I remember when I was whole
but that was before you,
before you came with your storms,
before you taught me to fear
my own shadow,
before your hands shaped the air
to choke the life from me.

I am not the candle anymore
I am the flame you stole,
the ember you crushed,
the smoke you turned into nothingness.

You said I was nothing,
and you made sure of it,
turning every breath I took
into a gasp for air
that only you could control.

And now, I stand here
a fragile, flickering thing,
caught in the whirlwind
of your calculated destruction.
You are the storm,
and I am the wreckage
you've left behind.

I am nothing but the silence
between the gusts,
waiting for the last breath of wind
to blow me out
to turn me to smoke,
and to make me disappear
like I was never meant to be.