162 162 Fahrenheit By: Rekka Burn. Burn. Burn.
I was aware of it, but I was too persistent.
I cannot touch the flame without getting burned, but even so, I did not flinch. It was as if I was used to it, or perhaps grew with it. Of course I was afraid, who wouldn’t be?
My room was covered in carmine and the doors were all locked. It was a sight I cannot seem to forget. Terrified is an understatement, but all the other words were already set ablaze. How do I light myself up without burning down? I have been asking myself the same question at night, while holding a matchstick to start a fire. Burn. Burn. Ashes.
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