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Apr 2012
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.
Written by
Kiara McNeil  122/F/usa.
(122/F/usa.)   
553
 
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