Burn The Pages

I sit with a zippo in my hands, lit,

dancing against the pages of

a paperback novel I hesitated to write.

Flame licks worn page corners,

begs to devour the stories inside,

and I don’t hesitate to allow it’s feast.

Inferno engulfs, delighted by the memoir;

allows me to watch the burn

as singed words become ashed remains.

When it’s over, the flame flickers and fades,

content with its full belly

and I sit back in awe.

Gone are the tragedies and terrors,

and with it I close my eyes and the zippo;

satisfied and yet still hungry.

What else can I light on fire?

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