Molten

There is a world where everything is in the molten state. Time is fluid. Life and Death are free to move. Feelings and actions can be moulded at the convenience of the moulder. In that same world, my candle burns at both ends. Almost as if I am in the middle of the candle, swimming towards the flame but knowing not which side I am swimming to. The candle is like the life bestowed on me. There will be a day when the flame reaches me and when it does, I would be prepared to let it touch me, take me into its warmth. One can live in the hope that that day is not the last day they are living out. But there is no assurance that it isn't. There can never be any assurance, given the fluidity of Life and Death. 

People on their death bed are sometimes granted an extra day, a few extra hours. The healthiest of people can be on the walk of life and suddenly be forced to leave the comfort of living because of no apparent fault of theirs. Death can come so close as to ruffle your hair and walk away. There is a life in the apparently secure amniotic fluid of a mother's womb and Death enters and pulls it out of the burning flames, letting the ashes flow in the womb, now devoid of life.