The Match (strike one)

The Match (WIP)

Treat me right, treat me good,
Treat me like you know you should —
Cause my heart’s not made of wood.

Rage.
Set me on fire.
Burnt out.
Sequin flames that dance,
but are extinguished before the full hold of inferno.

Treat me right, treat me good,
Treat me like you know you should.
Instead, you treat me terribly,
Even though you know it — my heart will break.

Constantly spark my fire,
Snuff out the next line,
Never let it take hold.

Charred, cannot sparkle.
Although flames definitely do.
Ignition.
Ignite — the flames dance bright.
Treat me right.

Treat me right, I burn with fright,
With anger, with sadness, with sorrow — why?

Treat me right, I burn with fright,
With anger, with sadness, with sorrow — why?

The sequins, though tarred, can be dusted off.
The glint shows through — the magpie would steal.
See? See through the facade,
still noticed, still seen.

I am fragility,
I am beauty.
I sparkle,
even after your deadly dance.

(Strike one)

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