When the fire first started,
I ignored the sparks and smoke.
But as I grew,
I began to burn.
Hands exploring myself,
a new sensation at my fingertips.
I used to feel guilty,
like ******* was a sin.
But I don't feel that way now,
as whimpers fill the room,
hitched pretty breathing,
little whines and sighs.
I think I was created for this,
and God knew that the flames would lap at my body,
made me to burn and build and crescendo.
So I don't feel guilty anymore,
and I guess,
I never should have.