They tried to burn me alive
to give me my last rites
while I cried,
“Stop!”

Puffs of nightmares
smoking and
stacking upon
the wind
pushing
their
billowy blackness
up and around
like an upside down
ice-cream machine.

Fire touched my tips
Eyes burning,
blinking wet.
I begged them
“Please.”

Flames pursued
my bare flesh with ease,
melting and distorting,
transmuting it into
twisted versions of
Autumn colors.

I screamed
as each inch of skin
was swallowed in agony.

The masses
looked on.
Muted expressions
of fascination
and a sick satisfaction
plastered their faces,
while heated confusion
and pain painted mine
because their
tolerance for madness
had been expanded
beyond my comprehension.

So, when those holy men
told them
that I needed to be cleansed
Well,
all they thought was
the next life
will be better
for the burning
of him.

Then in the end
my skin
flaked black,
while white ash
floated in the wind.