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I am a firework.
My match is lit.
As it grows shorter,
so does my sanity.
Soon my fuse reaches its end,
and my life is beautiful.
The colors, excite my world.
But than, I am once again,
nothing.
I am left,
A pile of ugly, broken, unwanted ashes.
Waiting to be blown away, in the wind.
To reform once more.
Only to do it over again.
I am a firework.
Wishing I had never been set off.
Wishing my fuse had been left untouched,
just as I am now.