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Beginning to Love the Color of Flame
Black smoke blots out the moon,
sinking into the night air.
From a minuscule phosphorous sheet
it burns an elysian gold.
A beauty that will depart too soon,
becoming naught but a night prayer.
Soon infernal reds and blues dot the street.
The final embers depart with a whisper.
Like any living creature,
distinct aromas permeate after death.
“The same fate to all ye who approach” they say.
I pick up a charcoal.
Just warm.
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Inspired by the song パイロマニア (Pyromania) by いめ44 (Ime44). A thought piece on pyromania, similar to the song in that aspect. Unlike the song that has undertones of what exactly caused the pyromania and pain it causes, I only focused on the feeling that must come about and threw in a religious reverence for it.