Playing With Fire
She carried Hell in her hands and hatred on her back
She was once a girl who played with dolls.
Now she is a young woman who plays with fire.
Fire of the tongue...
Fire of the heart...
Heat is her middle name, and flames are her words.
Flames are her words.
Flames are her words.
She plants gardens of sunflowers, because she has never been that close to that kind of heat.
She admires it.
Requires it.
But cannot ever touch it.
Her flowers soon die to her hands.
Maybe her personality scared them away.
Maybe she planted them too close together--
She never read the directions because she burned the wrapper on accident.
Her fingers are too hot to touch.
Maybe her flowers died because she harvested them too soon.
Or maybe Hell just always burns every blossom.
