once you wrote
that i had fire in me.
fire in my hair,
my brain,
my heart and veins,
fire between my legs.
(and you felt. you could tell.)
by then, i was almost put out already. dead flame, unwanted. last breath taken by the cold.
but there’s always a spark
within me.
now i feel like i can almost birth my own dragons, kill the demons of my past.
light out the path ahead of me,
empower creation and burn my fears.
i dry my wounds into scars and faster they always heal.
(yes, sometimes i burn my pain with a lit cigarette on my skin.
it happened when i knew.
about you two.)
i turn to fire. it’s what i’m made of, it’s what i got.
with a snap i take this bridge to the ground
(though i glance back, through the blaze, and still try to understand).
ashes cover the remains of our future together.
(was there ever such a thing?)
for then my dreams rise, smoking real and whole
(and they will even higher if you try to blow)
my chest, always warm, awaits.
the power from chaos prevails.
for i am made of fire. in my brain. in my heart and veins. in between my legs.
