I built my own pyre, I sat on it and lit it. I feel like I'm drowning and choking.
The pyre was created unintentionally, in the shadows. It waited for me, like a patient ill omen.
It has been many months since I built it. I don't remember when I got on. I don't remember when I struck the match. All I felt was this immense heat, eating away at my being.
I can't get off, my legs betray me. I am the fuel that keeps it ablaze.
I am a fool. A gambler. The worst kind. The kind who have it good, but throw it away knowing the risks anyway.
I shouldn't be drowning, yet there exists a bowl full of fluid attached to a vise around my neck.
I can't use the liquid to douse the flames, it's like oil. Viscous and tarry, it reaches for my nose.
The lies are all that keep me sane. I tell myself I can't feel the pain.
The flames lick away at my skin.
How do I escape this here predicament?
Comments
Post a Comment