Tendrils that lick my skin
Tearing into me,
Pulling me apart bit by bit,
Leaving nothing
But tender pink flesh in its wake.

The horrid sounds I hear
I find are my own.
Ripped from my throat
so vehemently,
so vivaciously.

Soon consciousness ebbs
away from me.
Numbed beyond anything,
A feeling beyond anything,
Both detested and welcome,
despised and loved.

The twisted screams and cries
are my final swan song.
My flesh crumbles away
Becoming blissfully nothing,
Regrettably something.

Nothing but ash.
I think to myself.
Nothing but ash.
I scream to myself.
Nothing but ash.
I whisper to myself.
Nothing but ash,
Nothing but ash,
And then there is only smoke.