Early this morn I unearthed words
from thirty-three years ago
gazed in wonder as I wandered
through lines of rhymes
back when I was grasping for
meaning to define
just what life had thrown
like confetti.
As I touched the paper
flames shot up where I had misspelled
cruel pleasures
such a terrible waste of time
some in winter, mostly summer nights
when moonlight
lit the path to self destruction.
Now I’m curious if my pockets
were lined with stolen hearts
if I used a chalkboard to keep track
of how much it truly cost
to be so lost.
Ignited 
burn baby burn