“To rise from the ashes,
first we must burn.”

I am trying to plant flowers.

To sprout them right out of my
Hands toes eyelashes nose and
Leave them with everything
I touch in the world.

I wish to be perpetually blooming,
But I can’t grow anything at all,
Except a sparse **** or two
From my weary war torn body
Exhausted from the calamities
Of a long fought battle.

I am fascinated with
The *intoxicating idea
Of destroying myself.
Burning,
Ever so elegantly,
Into a sparkling dust
To nourish new flowers
I could never become
On my own

Daydreams of a Pyro-Botanist
Are equally consumed
With blooming and burning.
  
I keep setting myself on fire and
Waiting for someone to douse my flames
Before I burn myself to the ground.