I dreamt of a girl
in a fireplace.
Curled inside
its cold recess,
she slept the sleep
of the innocent
while I stood outside,
powerless.
But the flames
wouldn't spark
and the girl slept on,
fetus-like.
Perhaps she dreamed
of a birthday cake
or of a woman watching
the darkness at play.
Perhaps she was the smoke
poured from my addled brain.
 
For there are times it 
seems too sick a fate
to be a parent on
this cold, dark stage.
Where every lick
of what if
dances nearer upon
this matchstick life..