i'd seen it burning, it was me
the one who'd set it up.
i'd never tell, never be seen,
but always be around.
there was some beauty to it that
i couldn't really share.
The flame and i were different, but
both always gasped for air.
i've seen it taking, felt the fear
it's gotten me before.
yet somehow it would lure me in
and ask to feed it more.
it's made itself known on my skin,
gently dabbing my hands.
i always knew that we were kin,
i knew it understands.
a rapsody of life and death, a fable
so intriguing, you couldn't
picture warmth so fatal,
or love so unforgiving.
it didn't leave no silver scars,
no petty, goudy patches,
i'm just a never dying spark
trapped in a box of matches.