warmth.
a fire that needs kindling.
it’s dying out,
we’ve lost the tinder stick.
so i blow.
i fill up my lungs until they hurt:
inhale;
exhale;
my head spins and there is no air.
i do it again,
i don’t save any for myself.
i am dizzy.
the ash is swirling
up in the air.
inhale.
exhale.
my chest is going to burst.
the ash is settling on my skin,
tattooing the harsh reminder
of how much i give.
inhale.
exhale.
i can no longer see.
inhale. exhale.
i have done all that i can,
all that remains is my soul.
my heart has abandoned me,
my lungs have died.
my mind is on the outs with me,
she says i shouldn’t even try.
do i throw it into the embers, too?
perhaps that’s all it needs to stay alight forever,
but i am too tired now.
i never listen.
fire would = firewood
