& This Matters Too

flames attatched

//wait suddenly I'm proud so I hope U like this eek🙈//

If I spit fire in your mind,

Will the ashes come back in the shape of a gun?

Could I relive my life to say I'm sorry?

If I hadn't struck the match,

Would the damage still exist in your head?

Surely it would have already,

Right?

Had I not dropped my torch,

Might you look at me and smile?

Then say,

"What a great day it is to feel oxygen on my lungs."

What a great day it is

not to have this mind-fire take hold, it's flames licking my subconscious into doubt.

Devastation to my thoughts.

Havoc in my self esteem.

Putting question to the very order of my working heart, that had only mission:

to keep me alive.

And I tore that all down.

I told your heart it should not beat so contentedly.

Your mind to no longer think those happy things upon fresh mornings with the disgusting person you told yourself to be.

Oh wait, was that me?

Then I continued to tell my own self,

do it out of fear.

Because my body

Never worked like yours.

And maybe that's what I took notice of first.

Or why I dropped all the matches,

With flames attached

like out-of-shape hope.

Not realizing no one was left to do the clean up,

When my hands were all tied in guilt.

-s.l