My party piece:
I strike, then from the moment when the matchstick
conjures up its light, to when the brightness moves beyond its means, and dies, I say the story
of my life -

dates and places, torches I carried,
a cast of names and faces, those
who showed me love, or came close,
the changes I made, the lessons I learnt -

then somehow still find time to stall and blush
before I'm bitten by thе flame, and burnt.

A warning, though, to anyone nursing
an ounce of sadnеss, anyone alone:
don't try this on your own; it's dangerous,
madness.