a campfire burns in the center of a circle

she can’t help but stare into the flame

what would it feel like to dip her finger in

surely it wouldn’t hurt more than when her father got mad

when he smashes beer bottles against the wall mere inches from her head

surely it wouldn’t hurt more than when dinner was too hot

and her whole body would freeze up waiting for her father’s reaction

surely it wouldn’t be hotter than the fire burning in her chest sometimes

when her mother sits quietly in the corner watching with lifeless eyes

as her father screams with alcohol breath into her face

she reaches her arm out towards the fire

further and further until she can feel the heat

until it feels like it’s climbing over her skin

until someone grabs her arm and yanks her away

screaming at her, not unlike her father

but she can’t tear her eyes away from the fire

the burning blaze of pure power

oh, what you could do with fire

maybe water would’ve been better to fight the fire in her chest

but she chose to fuel it not dampen in

she stands in front of her childhood home, holding an empty can of gasoline

as she lights a match and throws it onto the bricked building, she wonders

would it have been different if she never played with fire?