Aug 10
I burned for a year,
but no one felt the heat.
Left ashes on everything I touched.
The traces of a silent burning.
But I am no phoenix,
and this is no rebirth.
This is the dying of the senses.
No nerve left to feel.
This is a forest fire,
and I am the kindle.

I burned for a year
just to say that I did.
Self-immolation of the most selfish degree.
A sacrifice that isn't for the best.
I've given up a dozen times,
only to give up on giving up.
But this time I swear I mean it.
And nothing will be gained or lost.
All you'll find is ash, and dust, and residue.

I burned for a year
or maybe it was ten.
It's been so long that I've lost count.
But it's my fault for being so flammable.
For being a wildfire of a being.
For being so desert of feeling.
I just burn and burn and burn.
Written by
m  21/F
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