Her lips whispered an arsonist’s lullaby.
Voices echoed through the smoke,
Erasing memories burning in the flames.
You were enticed.
If the fire in her eyes ever went out,
You’d promise to make your own.
Follow the sound of her voice
And you’ll come face to face with the sun.
Maybe you want her so badly because
She’s the only form of light you haven’t created.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.