Every night I sit by a fire,
the only fire that keeps me warm:
red-hot coals,
perpetually burning,
not quite alive, but never really dying;
flaking white ash,
burned beyond recognition,
crumbling into nothing;
and gray smoke,
stinging my eyes, eating up my lungs,
as I breathe in the fumes
and lay beside the fire,
the fire of what was, and
what could have been,
and what never will be.
Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 8:02 AM UTC
Every night I sit by a fire,
the only fire that keeps me warm:
red-hot coals,
perpetually burning,
not quite alive, but never really dying;
flaking white ash,
burned beyond recognition,
crumbling into nothing;
and gray smoke,
stinging my eyes, eating up my lungs,
as I breathe in the fumes
and lay beside the fire,
the fire of what was, and
what could have been,
and what never will be.
