I saw it simmer, threatening to die down.
Flickering as the water fed on its essence,
But it didn’t die and the bluish orange continued to the edge of the paper
And on to the lining of the toilets water, raising my fear of its end.
It never stopped moving steadily to the very corner giving out a darkness and a pungent burning coal smell to fulfill my atrocious purpose.
The flames grew a brighter orange that diminished the blue as they came at the paper’s corner,
I gave up hope, there was no more of the orange or blue.
There were no more flames and my motive was left unfulfilled.
Those last flames that elevated my desire,
Had it terminated just as fast.
The fire was never able to strip that ****** name off,
It lay there mocking me on the blemished paper.
Even though the blaze had been flushed,
Mine just rose up enough to get me writing this poem.