She Could Have Burned A Hole In The Sky

I'm an open flame, sending sparks to the stars. I don't live at the campgrounds, but no one's calling the department because it's been raining for nearly a year. Pouring. Brilliant blues fade to warm yellows as cold bullets fall from the clouds. I was never meant to be this rebellious, without the boundaries of stones. Defining. The rain pours harder to confine, to control. Dampening the paths I begged so desperately to illuminate. The rain holds me back, reminding me to stay where it can reach so I don't burn anything too precious.

I think I'm beautiful, but honestly, I'm destructive. I only wish to breathe without turning something into dust. I'm tired of consuming things the way I have consumed myself, engulfed in flames. I'm self destructing and running out of fuel. Burning at both ends, but the rain is relentless.

I'll be ash and not even lightning will spark me.