Just to add some context to this poem. I wrote it after a joint therapy session with my ex, where we aim to manage our communication together for co-parenting. At one point she mentioned that she’s gasoline and I’m fire. I wrote this poem shortly after…
My soul erupted long ago,
In a cloud of ashen dust.
There’s a crackling to the flames aglow,
The scent of burning flesh provokes disgust.
The days have passed me solemnly,
Yet the embers always stayed.
I guard this flame,
To avoid the shame,
Of hurting someone else.
But the fickle hand of irony,
Reaches and caresses me,
When the people doused in gasoline,
Are the ones that touch me tenderly.
Before this all comes to an end,
Perhaps I will find,
The waters that I need.
This thirst grows only stronger,
Drinking salt-water from the sea.
The vultures circle up above,
As I pass through life aflame.
By a Universe ugly and so crass.
Because every time,
I cross a bridge,
I burn it as I pass.
For what a torturous fate,
To live this life on fire.
To watch yourself ignite the world,
With the flames you once despised.
Why am I so fucking oxidized?
I am the burn,
I am the fire!