My fingers spend so much time
trying to figure out life through the minimal of words
striving to discover a soul
and wanting to look for pain.
I refrain pain
but I go on and still go looking for it.
It would sting if I sheltered its being under my hand;
my warm and welcoming palm.
But I got used to it
I know the feeling
even if I dumbfoundedly placed my hand over the placid yet viscious fire.
I know I'd burn my existence over the inferno
and I'd burn this love on a fire
I'd define myself as the last of an afire love
and I'd lock this calling in a frame; a photograph.
My bloodstream does not only include the thick resistence of blood,
but all of my burdens
all of my memories
all of my hurting...
It simmers a little when I'm welcomed with the pain so enduring.
I burned my tongue on the fire
but I cooked my heart over a roast and it evaportated into thin specs of ash;
just how I thought it would.
YOU ARE READING
Mellifluous Murmurs
Poetry❁ Freedom is allowing the crisp air to guide you through this forest we can call society. ❁