Touch the Flame

What is it about a flame that is so captivating?
The pulsation of each jittery flicker?
The aura of colors that trace it’s edges?
Is it the very tip that narrows and grows reaching for one last breath of air before submission?
Maybe it’s the sturdy base which never seems to falter,
Or the ivory halo that escapes from the charred wick.
Perhaps it’s the consistency of it’s fight to remain,
Or it’s will to bend to the wind.
I find myself effortlessly entranced in the sway of it’s waltz,
Unsure why my eyes ache to look deeper.
My core softens with every breath I take, watching in disbelief.
How can it flourish yet wilt in the very same moment?
Blossoming only to wither.
The flame draws me near, mischievously enough to abuse my curiosity,
But a flame can only give you warmth at a distance.
It pulls me in until every spark of beauty turns on me and melts away the flesh that I once thickened enough to keep my demons from escaping.
Lost in it’s spell, I touch it, and just like that
It’s magic is gone.
Reality destroys mystery and I carry the scar it left me with,
But I never dare to touch the flame again.
Or do I?

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