Spilled Tea

Flames and Matches

I still have the matches
that I used to play with.
My young mind
that was unaware of the peril
that those flames would unleash.
Unintentionally burning the bridges
one by one,
starting with my first love and the storm clouds,
next the one that led to the girl with a sea inside her eyes,
and lastly the road to my home.
I keep them because the strings between us have always been thin
and I may use them
to light myself on fire,
because I'd rather be the one
to burn myself to the ground
than live a life
without you in it.
It's kind of humorous to look at the spark in your eyes when I let you hold my matchbox.
Did you have this massacre planned out already,
my wonderful perpetrator?
All I can do is wait
until you light the flames
once more.
I keep the matches in preparation for the possibility of you disappearing,
but if that day comes
you will have taken them
from my grasps in order
to watch my internal catastrophe and satisfy your curiosity of what it feels like to watch a tortured girl burn in the mists of what used to be safety in the arms of a girl she assumed she could trust.
In the flames,
you cannot trust,
seeing that hardly anything
is permanent in a fire
and this will be the downfall
when the rest of my body,
my only home that seemed
to have proved it's permanence,
is in a pile of
smoking ash
and charred rubble.

-about LWB