Burn

I pass the box,
Between my fingers,
Slowly weave between,
I push on the side,
And take a match out,
And I strike it, hard and clean.

I hear the scratch,
And I see the flame,
Burst before my eyes.
I watch the flame turn,
And I await my burn,
Before the light just dies.

I hear the slight seer,
Of my skin, in my ear,
And the tears now flood my eyes.
And they fall like the rain,
But I inflict my pain,
To get my tears to rise.

20 matches lie in front of me,
All half eaten by the flame,
My finger tips are burnt and scorched,
But my emotions run the game.
Fire reflects in my eyes,
But my soul has none to show,
I light one again,
Then another 10,
And I let the tears just flow.

A single candle sits in front of me,
One skinny, tall, and white,
And I light its wick,
As I hear the clock tick,
And tock on through the night.

I watch it burn,
And the wax takes its turn,
Sliding down the side,
Drops of heat,
Small and meek,
Like my tears,
That wont subside.

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