XCIX Poem Challenge--1--Prose

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Prose is ordinary language and I guess you could say your "vernacular". Prose can be either "Narrative" or "Expository". It's not confined to poetic measures and is often grouped in paragraphs. Prose poetry combines both the characteristics of poetry and the prose. This is one of my favorite types of poetry and I've decided to do a narrative, but there's plenty of poetic meaning behind it. Enjoy!

(I could have just used "Twisted Vernacular", but it's a bit long.)

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Tongues of red and orange licking away at the feeble bricks, their taste buds tingling with delight. Grey clouds filling my nostrils, smothering me. Hacking coughs, quickened gasps. Flames springing up from everywhere. Engulfing me, consuming me. Spiderweb cracks running along the ceiling, becoming a thousand fissures. The foundation groaning under the weight of the house, teetering on the edge. Debris rain down on me as I curl up into a fetal position, reaching for the last sliver of hope. Reaching, reaching, reaching. The sounds of my screams drown out everything and my body is so hot that it freezes and burns.

An IV drip. The sound of a machine monitoring my vitals. Hazy vision. The people in white scrubs inform that I’m in the IC section, Intensive Care. It should stand for “Internal Crash” because inside, I feel like I’ve lost control of my body. I’m literally jumping out of my skin. A man tells me he needs to perform a skin graft because of my burns. Blinking rapidly and nodding slightly, I let him know that I agree. Anasthetic. All the pain is gone.

A worried face above me, creases in the forehead. He says that the operation was somewhat successful. I see my reflection and my heart sinks. There’s scarring, which will always be a part of me. A memory of the remnants from my past. The scattered composition of careless mistakes.

To this day, all I see is pity written on THEIR faces. Everyone who I encounter. They ask me if I’m okay and I push them away, not wanting to talk. My insecurities rising to the top. There is only I thing I am certain of: I will never find peace even when I reach the perfect paradise. 

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