This flame is in its own world
and state of mind,
Ignoring all others' existence,
Except its own.
It lives in another dimension,
But yet, wanderes in ours.
Its light illuminates the path
that I'm supposed to drift down.
Heat rises
and burns
Your innocent dangling fingertips.
And so you cry over your small wound.
Now you know,
Flames must be cared for
in a much different way,
Or else
They will do you no good.
