Leaving Time

4am in the morning,
playing with matches,
as I'm looking back
the narrow road,
between the shadows,
wishing I could set
my past on fire.

I have become
what I can't be,
and I will never be
what I want to become.

And with a match
lit inside my fingers,
I hope I fall asleep too soon
so I can turn this poem
into my last goodbye.

Saffie
24

18/10//15