Matchstick poetry

Watch this matchstick poetry
As I light it
with phosphorous metaphors
That was born from a matchbox
tucked away in the alley
And ignited by pretty fingers
of manicured whores

You will watch as
it burns completely
Bending to the will of fire
as it chars it will hold this
eternal form

Feel and see this fragile
black scorched artistry

Because this poem is me