Lone Man, a Flame.

Sometimes I forget that
people can’t see inside of this
mess of a brain and this
chaos I call a thought process.
Sometimes I feel people
get so wrapped up in themselves
and their own stories
they forget about mine
and that’s gotta be selfishness
because I’m the one
suffering here.
What about me?
What about me?
I was once never important
to anyone.
I’m angry about being me
because I’m constantly worrying
about other people’s fires
all the while these flames consume me
It’s my fault though.
I found the spots
that won’t come clean
past the surface level and
so I doused them all in gasoline
the spark in my heart
where it all resides
was enough to immolate
and create this
walking man of fire
whose only desire is to be known
but it feels like nobody wants that
and I inflicted this upon myself
anyway so what does it matter?
I’ll just continue to pretend to be fine
and keep you warm from a distance
with the lick of these flames
against your skin
but I’d give anything
to cut myself open and let you in.
Then maybe I’d stop assuming
you don’t care
and I’d stop breathing smoke
instead of air.


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