Playing With Fire

By C.R. Doolan

He was a fire,

With eyes like dancing flames.

He had a way of approaching silently, 

Creeping in through the cracks in the doors,

Slowly increasing the heat.

I didn’t start sweating until a couple months in,

But I couldn’t see any smoke in the air,

So I stayed,

Without realising I was already trapped.

He was a fire,

Burning everything in his path,

Sucking the air from everyone he encountered.

And every time I thought I’d stopped breathing, 

He would restrain his fire.

Pull back just enough for my lungs to fill,

Enough for the smoke to thin.

And I would believe him when he told me, 

It had been put out.

He was a fire,

And I was a timber framed house.

I was built on these foundations,

Not realising that I was built to burn.

And somehow he just knew,

He knew that I would feed his flames,

And that he would slowly eat away at me,

Until I was nothing.

He was a fire,

And my friends were supposed to be firefighters,

But they abandoned their posts.

Too tired of telling me to put out the flames,

But never giving me a bucket of water.

And were still more than happy,

To toast marshmallows over the heat.

He was a fire,

But I never had an escape plan for him.

I was unprepared for his arrival,

And he took and took,

Until I was an empty shell,

With nothing else to give,

Until I was left a discarded mess on the ground.

He was a fire,

And he burnt me.

Left me with permanent scarring,

And now whenever I see a flicker of a flame,

I am reminded of the whole fire.

I can still smell my burning flesh,

And hear the crackling in my ears,

And feel the oxygen stolen from my lungs.

He is a fire.

And his fire consumed me,

And though I am still picking up the pieces,

This time,

I will build myself stronger

By C.R. Doolan