I set the stones in a solemn circle-
"Tomorrow I burn."
Yet the refuse sits-builds,
A mountain I cannot climb.

With the pretentious declarations of a martyr-
The will of a monk-
I resolve to rid myself.

I douse the pile in ******.
The lighter is in my hand.
But like my brother, searching for excuses,
My thumb refuses to move.

Instead I sear my skin-
A merciful punishment for such a man as me-
And walk away from the would-be bonfire.
Lest my soul sinks into the chasm, I lie:

"Tomorrow I burn."