I told you that everything you touched turn to ash.
I saw layers forming, soot, embers, and flurries burying all of the things I treasured.
I was afraid I'd get buried beneath them, too.
I blamed you for the tightness in my chest, my inability to breathe, my crawling skin, and scattered mind.
but a few equations and excavated truths later,
I realized all along it was me.
Like a slow leak, going mostly unnoticed, except for a few small signs, that eventually would lead to an explosion that would take thousands of years to recover from,
I spread this, this disease, seeped into your lungs and skin,
stole your good days and pleasant thoughts,
filled them with my fears and malice that I didn't know were possible to feel anymore,
didn't know were hiding, fragile and waiting to be triggered, inside of me.
if we're talking Chernobyl, maybe you're the fire but I'm the core.