Long ago.
Possibly when I was eleven years old.
I lit the first match.
That light fueled the fire in my heart.
Smeared my soul with darkness.
I watched everything burn.
Burn.
Burn.
Burn.
Poetic pyro’s .
That’s what we called our group.
Watch the flames flicker as our art took its shape.
My first kiss was stolen as I watched the flames flicker across his face.
I watch.
I grow.
I learn.
With every building.
With every match.
My soul curls.
My soul darkens.
I burn.