I always thought
I was made of concrete,
but it turns out my walls
are paper thin.
Paper burns
and you set me on fire,
so now I'm nothing
but dust and ash,
damp with salt water
and scattered by sighs.
I hope your clothes
smell of smoke
that makes you remember,
and I hope it makes you choke,
and struggle to breathe,
just like I did,
so that one day you'll realise
that you shouldn't play with matches.