The scraping of the matchstick against the box, gives it a raspy voice unlike any other heard.
The uneasy sputtering of the flame shone pale yellowish to the gazing eye.
The flame wavers as it makes a curvy trail up the matchstick.
Death follows with a certain puff As..
A wisp of smoke threads upward, becoming part of the shadows.
And as it rises you know the matchstick is gone.
11/13/10 amorlesslis
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