if he is not nimble;
      he knocks the candle over.
fire blossoms like hellflowers released in a desert summer.

if he is not quick;
      he sets himself aflame.
he twists in pain and in raging indignation with words like sparks.

if he does not jump;
      he stays where he is.
life continues as dull as smoke curling softly upon a tongue of autumn air.

it's all on him, now.

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