I cannot hide from my own thoughts.
It may be dark in here, but I know someone has to have a match.
And if my words are kerosene, yours are flint.
That silver tongue of yours may find use after all;
abrasive enough to catch.
I was never afraid of the heat of fire, but these dark spots in my memory burn too bright with time and too many lit matches.
The smell of sulfur forever a reminder.
I was never afraid of the heat of fire, but these ******* scars are a constant reminder
that sometimes darkness isn't so
scary after all.