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There’s a fire lit inside me that keeps growing. The world sees me burning, they gaze and admire the majestic orange light the flames produce that keep rising, but nobody wants to put it out.
Why do people enjoy the suffering of others? Does it satisfy them that there’s someone who burns? Does it relieve us that there’s a Hell where sinners will burn? What is so special about this fire that Satan immensely adores that gives him the will to take everyone down with him? Is it the warmth? The aggression?
The mercilessness or is the thirst the fire craves for once ignited?The mischievous little child inside us is not worthy to be called an angel. He’s a troublemaker who carries a matchstick around seeking opportunities to burn everything inside. The arsonist peeks through your eyes looking for the perfect moment to light it up. Each day he ignites the match and douses it if not content with the outcome. Slowly but surely the imp finds his blazing moment of glory to enkindle your sole existence.
He was asleep for years but I somehow felt he would wake up one day from hibernation to feed on my pain. He knows what keeps my heart beating all night, he is well aware of what I am feeling. It’s the moment he was waiting for all his life.
He saw her walking away. The match was lit. The fire burns.
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