Dull Ember

There is a humble silence with the winter air pressed against my living room window. 

    The candles fill the air with a stale scent that is meant to fill a space with fragrances that invoke warm memories , but there is no warmth.

My skin is a pale purple as I wonder why I really ever want feeling in my hands , sometimes I think how much easier it used to be when I was numb.

My mind is beginning to cloud not with scents of lost memories or lust but with hopes of a single ember in which a great fire may begin.

They say the final stretch of the race is always the hardest , as the night continues the finish line becomes harder to find .   I feed a dull ember trying to illuminate a clear path only to find a road leading to my approaching demise .