Burn me. Make me feel you.
Let me see your blinding light. Be close enough
to ignite the soul. Crash into me,
walls of fire burning every inch.
You can’t burn what you can’t reach.
Make me feel you, make me matter.
Burn me, make me real.

Scorch me, singe my very being.
Leave red scars shaped like hands shaped like you;
burn them into my skin.
Don’t cut, don’t make me bleed.
Don’t force the Inside out so quickly;
it gets messy. And god knows we can’t be trusted
to clean up our own messes.
Don’t melt me, set fire to me whole.
I can’t drip; I need to stay together
to know that I’m all here.

Lay siege to me with flame.
I can’t stand smoke or ash, simply
singe every layer with your sparks
until the inside is all that’s left.  
The underneath will emerge,
maybe stronger. Maybe not.
Burn me to find what’s there.

Burn me, please, or try.
Can one set fire to the self?
When the body burns away does the soul
catch the rest? Does it spiral upwards
in the smoke? Does it become the smoke?
There has to be something more, I’m sure
that when you char my body all that’s left
will be all that matters.

So experiment with me, even if you don’t believe.
Play with fire, if you care at all.
Burn me to the core, to the innermost levels
of all that is flammable.  
I need to know I’m really here.