15 Minutes

A match is struck against the box.

The flame is hot and new,

Quickly it lights the room,

Touching all the darkness,

Bringing joy to all it graces.

Slowly burning down and wilting,

Touching less and less.

Darkness regains its reign,

Finally burning out.

So this is the end of fame.

So soon it came,

But now it's gone,

And they don't know my name.

Why does it always have to be the same?

So soon it came,

And now this is the end of fame,

Dieing like a lonely flame,

Without fuel to keep its spark,

Everything remains dark.