The fire burns strong,

For some providing warmth,

Allowing vision,

A means to boil water or cook food.

For me it’s a trigger.

A reminder of my past.

My blistered skin - never to fully heal,

Reliving the pain like it was yesterday.

Burning me, layer after layer,

Bubbling my blood.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” they say,

I didn’t realise luck hurt so much.

So when I see a flame,

Dancing innocently,

Seducing others closer like a Siren,

I turn away.