I am close to death,
But it's the closest I am to life.
This pain, an affliction, is burning me inside.
A matchstick held up to my soul is slowly burning me alive.

When embers fall to ash, and the ash begins to subside,
My soul is now burn't pages, dark fibers, lost dreams cast aside.

I am awake and alive with pain, like at the height of human existence.

With paper pieces at my feet,
That have no place with one another,
I am lost, incomplete, and broken..
as the smoke begins to smother.

You are the matchstick;
Dangerous and deadly,
with a little bit of grime.
My soul, my life, dying a little each time.