Tch shrkrsrkrshrk
The match struck against the side of the box
And flickered to life
With flashing images of yellow and red.
Pinched between her thumb and finger
The splinter waited to set alight its next quarry.

A man sat, tied up in a chair
His head hung low.
Hair stuck to his forehead, slick with grease,
His eyes full of shame, yet they looked hollow.
He raised his head, eyes on level with the flame.
A sinking pain in his gut,
A feeling he couldn't name.

The girl in front had a similar fire sparkling in her eyes.
Her lips upturned a little to the side.
"I'm sorry", she mocked and let go
Of the stick that held his life.
She watched the flowing red River,
Crawling over the gasoline on its way,
Slowly reaching the wooden frame.
Teeth barred with a growl ready to jump at its prey.

Screams engulfed in roaring and crackling.
Flames lapping at fabric and licking skin.
Fragile cloth crumbling to ash,
Making her grin wider at the scene.
The purple and orange danced around
Hand in hand, celebrating in vain.
Oh! The beauty of a raging fire that hides within itself so much pain.

She turned on her heels,
Hair covering her eyes,
A dark smile playing on her lips.
They thought she was small,
So young and fragile.
Easy to break.

They were wrong.
They took away the peace from her life,
So she she broke their life to pieces.
It was for times like these,
She had learnt to play with Fire
And play she did.
〰️🔥〰️

--x--

A/N:
This poem is dedicated to hugs_4drugs who made me realise the beauty of fire and how this beauty tends to dominate pain because our eyes prefer aestheticism.
Thank you.♥️