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.