[Untitled]

Glowing ember
Just stops
Abruptly
Like a sparked matchstick

Pressure
Heat
Pillows of smoke
Eat away at the being

The luminescence
Its brightness
Its thirst for oxygen
The weakening glow

It twists
Bound by the heat
The invisible ropes
Threatening to suffocate

This solace
This temporary solitude
But there is no real comfort
In this winter solstice

The light has faded
The matchbox is empty
But my presence goes unseen
In the stillness of the night

This is the first poem that does not rhyme. Trying out something new. I needed to release some constriction off my chest. And this is what I wrote. Inspired from Nirvana's Polly and an endearing childhood story that I've always loved, The Matchstick Girl. Comments and constructive criticism welcome. And I still haven't come up with a title for it just yet.