Ignite

Dirty street lamps,
streaked with the days' wears and tears.
Cascade dim shadows onto the ground.

That ground.
The one where sinners walk,
and shameless whores talk.

Oh, where's the little lamplighter?
Scrappy clothes, swift hands.
Movements. Quick and sure.

Reach up, light bringer.
Strike the solid wood match,
bringing flame and fear into the eyes
of those who line the sketchy alleyways.

Searching, waiting, wanting, twitching.
Fix. Just one, I promise, little lamplighter.
Just strike the match, light that one,
white,
cigarette.

Breathe in the doomed smoke,
the saccharine smiles of the whores that flaunt
their used and abused, battered bodies.
Crimson eye shadow, and porcelain bodies raked with bruises.
Take your pick.

Lanterns show their true colors,
demasking the mounds of makeup and temporary confidence.
Shine lights on the wasted youth.

Ignite the flames.