Black Fire

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Black Fire My favorite pen quit writing. The ink had run dry. My poem was left… with out stanza. My life story without end! I pulled the lighter, from my purse. My hand; shaking badly, I looked around to make sure, no one watched, or cared… Then… I sizzled the tip… gently. Ah… in death… the last moments written… The body left empty, the heart stopped, and the spirit lifted.

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Niyna Desangre

Date: 2/4/2021 3:57:00 AM

A great bright respect of your favorite things. I always given them a moment of thought of how well they served me. Those little twinkles in time mean a lot somewhere! When it's my wee bitty time I hope someone say, she served us well! Thanks for shining light that direction otherwise, most wouldn't have known it was there.