I tried to pick my pieces up,
A lot of them were missing and some of them didn't fit.

It remained incomplete...
Took me years to understand,
I am not a puzzle to put myself back together.


For awhile I panic! And I tell the world my soul is dead... It is worse than that,
its burned.

From the scars lying on my hand and thighs.
From the idea of burning my skin with lightened up cigarette in my right hand and how much of a joy it might bring me.

To feel burned inside out.
I'm not a puzzle or dead.
I'm burned and the burns itch from time to time; recovering faster than a person with cold suffering from a running nose.

They have always said,
Be careful of the fire because it sits you on flames; but I never knew the fire and the burns can be this amusing to a human.


Perhaps I am not much of that either...