This is a poem from Anala’s point of view, centered around one of her acts of arson. She has a strange relationship with fire. While she recognizes its destructiveness, she can’t help but adore its power, its color, and its flare for the dramatic. Just like her.

I honestly want to explore her connection with fire more, and probably will in the upcoming year. We shall see where the inspiration takes me.

Content Warnings: Arson, fire, technically death.

Poem to Arson, My Love

Flames are 

Red, is life, red is rich, red is velvet chairs, lush against their skin, sitting pretty in a home, 

Orange, is soft, orange is happy, orange is the last rays of sunlight, blushing and falling to the blackness of the night. 

Blue, is calm. Blue is steady. Blue is my gaze, watching this home, shimmering with lights and laughter, 

Red 

Dazzling, swirling into a million shades of  

red, rich as the blood humming through my veins. 

Orange, bright and fierce and flaring as my match 

Sparks. Glows, warm and ready between my fingers. 

Blue, no–deep azure, hidden in the depths of the rich colored  

reds 

Teasing. 

Yes, I am blue, and yes, I will tempt you with my curls of pretty blooms and 

Then I will strike. 

Flames. 

Rising against the grey of the night, ripping through their lives 

The roar of the 

Red, mingling with the screams of the captured 

Orange, clawing through a little dollhouse that used to be happy. 

I should not have done this. 

Blue, curls of gas, heavy in the air, heavy as the screams and the pain in my heart hearing 

Them. 

Seeing this dollhouse covered in black 

Ashes. 

I should not have done this. 

Red 

Blood, strewn across the floor, in a pattern of delicate blooms and  

The last sparks of life 

Orange, humming through the dying 

Embers. Licking up into the air, dancing and flying and leaping in a frenzied last waltz with the  

Blue 

As it rests, lingers in the scorched mess  

Sliding among the fabric scraps  

Of red, orange, bright  

Life. 

Silenced. 

a bit of melted plastic, shimmering 

Tangled in a mess of blond hair. 

Watching this job well done, this wreckage 

You should not have done this. 

But it is done.