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Erin Suurkoivu Dec 2016
and it isn’t so odd that
we become each other’s
caretakers, as like
children, we reach for love,
as if we’ve never endured
a long winter’s night alone,
hope the last matchstick
lit in our hand.
Maria Imran Aug 2016
• not sad. not sad at all.
• this ache is too indescribable for being real
• I die every time. then again I live: to die
• you took away my prose. you snatched my poetry and burnt it
• matchsticks and broken hearts
• voids and monotonous escape routes
• aren't we all waiting?
Leah Barton Apr 2016
A matchstick man
With a flint for a head
Burned up my wick
Till I was melted and dead
They keep telling me
It's time to blow out my spark
But they don't realize
I'm afraid of the dark
So I continue to glow
With what little that's left
In love with the light
Though my life stands bereft
I will keep the flame lit
Of a warmth that has grown
I wont put it out
Till it goes, on its own
Clindballe May 2014
I found a matchstick
lit it
then threw it away.
Written: May 23. - 2014

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