It was a pleasure to burn
by kate-richter
It was a pleasure to burn
standing over smoldering ash, watching
his face crisp on a glossy 4x6 print
I spit into a heap of blackened memories
I promised myself that this would be
the last piece of me
he would ever consume.
I swore to anyone who would listen, I was through with his twists and ties of lies.
Yet, I was still tangled in
his grip; beset with spite, my mind muddled
through dark daydreams of revenge. A sudden flash
regained my consciousness as the barn’s worn wooden beam erupted into flames.
I knew I had to split
before I too, crisped into cinders.