bnomis

  My party piece:
  I strike, then from the moment when the matchstick
  conjures up its light, to when the brightness moves
  beyond its means, and dies, I say the story
  of my life -
  
  dates and places, torches I carried,
  a cast of names and faces, those
  who showed me love, or came close,
  the changes I made, the lessons I learnt -
  
  then somehow still find time to stall and blush
  before I'm bitten by the flame, and burnt.
  
  A warning, though, to anyone nursing
  an ounce of sadness, anyone alone:
  don't try this on your own; it's dangerous,
  madness.