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Play with Fire
My mom warned me
not to play with fire
and yet
here I sit, cross legged,
staring into the vibrant eyes of flame.
The twisted smile
that stares back at me
proves that my mother was right
but I feel the warmth spreading through my core, nonetheless.
I watch the flames flickering higher,
my eyes shift slightly upwards and then
just a bit down.
I lean towards the fire
the heat flowing through my veins,
and her hands intertwine in my hair
my lips find hers, again
and I feel my heart begin to burn.
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This poem is about messing with something that you know is going to hurt you in the end. It's about discovering things about yourself, and giving into something that you know will hurt you later.