It happened—

Grip loosened.

The detachment, a release. 

Trapped in a wonderland of my own making—

a world vast, all-consuming, yet minuit in reality.

Sweetest of tortures. It burned and bloomed 

in me, a fever I welcomed. A hunger I fed.

Perhaps I will miss it, or simply replace it. 

But what substitutes an avalanche of flames? 

Who could dominate the same, 

burn me with the same blaze?

Next time, I’ll be cautious—

maybe.

It’s delicious. It is rare. 

I like to play with fire.