I dreamt of a girl in a fireplace. Curled inside its cold recess, she slept the sleep of the innocent while I stood outside, powerless. But the flames wouldn't spark and the girl slept on, fetus-like. Perhaps she dreamed of a birthday cake or of a woman watching the darkness at play. Perhaps she was the smoke poured from my addled brain.
For there are times it seems too sick a fate to be a parent on this cold, dark stage. Where every lick of what if dances nearer upon this matchstick life..