it takes me back to this certain,
particular time
blue flames crawling up the wall
boy sitting in the centre of them all
clothes lined with soot and nothing
in his pitch black eyes

a tongue darting out
to wetten his lips
but what's the point? when
everything's on fire? maybe
for him
it's as normal as nothing

blood red brick walls
eyes making contact to rival them all
the start of something: usually, one
finds a spark to light their ambitions
but what does one do with
a fire presented to them?

at the words directed to him,
he perked up
soot flying around him like
masquering, ill informed snowflakes
settling on his face like freckles
and then began the start of my own
self immolation