Sometimes,
I will myself
to forget
you hurt me,
and then I am
in pain.
Consumed by all
I didn’t do and
ravaged by what I did.
You are always
without guilt,
smoke in my lungs
as I ignite.
You were on fire
and I was so cold…
Sometimes,
when I am
burning
for the touch
of your hands
on my skin,
I distract myself
with the singe
of an overheating laptop
on my thighs,
thank god
I never let
your embers
land there,
and I write.
About how warm
my eyes are and how
someday, someone
else
will worship them
as they make me smile.
The heated hope
evaporates my tears
and sometimes,
I remember how
you made me combust.
Red. Red. Red.
I will smother
your memory
until it is ash
and you are
the only one choking
on smoke.
I am the fire.


**V. K.