You and your fire. Huh! You lit it! So you tend it! You feed it! You search by day for enough fuel to keep it. Did you find large punky logs that will burn through the longest cold night? Or did you not pay any mind? Then scramble and rake in the briars, bramble and sticks. Oh they will quickly flame magnificent! But dwindle just as fast. And when your soul is cold there is no comfort in the covers with which you made your bed. They are poor insulation. In the depth of night when fears come out to feed.
Anxiety is fodder. Anger, lonliness, and weariness are the flames for moths. Grubs gnaw out of the porous rotten wood as it merely singes and does not burn. Left on it’s own you know this fire will sucumb. You think it won’t matter to anyone but you. Ultimately true! Why did you bother liting a fire? It must matter the most to no one but you.

P.S.
Should I include stage directions