Waiting
-I seem to be doing lots of that-
I’d swear there’s smoke trapped under my lungs
My gut’s caught on fire
Consumes me
Red hot coal,
Two bags of air ousted
By toxic smoke building up,
Fragrant like tobacco
Wild like wood.
I often dream about
Driving a knife into my stomach
Just a pop and an excess of smoke
filling the room
No blood at all.
I’ll open the windows
Turn off the fire alarm.
I’ll leave the wound open.
A gaping, smoking wound is more dignified
Than screaming in the flames.