Flames

I line up rows and rows of candles and then I set them all on fire. Dozens of licks of flame worshiping the sky. I can feel their heat even across the room. Sometimes I burn things in them, little things. There is a pistachio shell permanently embedded in the wax of one candle. It did not smell good. I watch the flames and wonder if just staring at them for too long will burn holes in my eyes, like the sun. There is a ball of flame in our sky that is too hot to look at, a ball of flame that wants to burn us all alive. And we run around like ants under a microscope, trying to get cool.