It's a pleasure to burn
The cleansing sensation of being reduced to ash
As addictive as nicotine, but not so sparingly indulged in.
Flames trickle
From
The lighter
To
The wick
The wax and perfume blind the senses, block out the world.
To
The paper
Words are lost. Folded in on themselves and distorted beyond recognition.
To
The wood
Smoke blurs the fireplace; memories and emotions drifting in debris among the burnt logs.
To
The photograph
Smiling faces, candid moments, spaces in time are lost and forgotten. Sunshine strokes can only be felt once; the gloss of the photograph cold and unforgiving.
To
The world.
The world should just burn,
And I want to be the one to set fire
To
The oceans.
The sky should rain falling flames.
Rain.
A notion that, under normal circumstances, should be relaxing,
Familiar,
Safe.
But the trees will burn.
Humanity shall not remain.
Just fire.
Returning to ash,
Like we were destined to do.
To be.
To burn.