poem2

I wrote another poem today, this one rhymes.

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Flame Boy

I guess it was neat

He could combust when he wanted.

But this power had a limit;

An extent to be flaunted.

One day he went out

To an arts and crafts store.

He burst into flame

Then rolled on the floor.

The paper caught fire

And the felt markers too.

Those, in turn, set ablaze

The worker's craft glue.

When the glue caught the spark,

The craft store exploded.

The mother's love for Flame Boy

Undeniably eroded.

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Done in the style of those poems/short stories in Tim Burton's The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & Other Short Stories.

I love that book.

The poems are deliciously depressing.

P.S. I miss you already, but I doubt you care.