yellow

ember

i pressed a still lit cigarette on my forearm to see if i could feel anything. there was no sharp intake of breath. no whimper. not a sound but the sizzling of my skin. on the same arm i have a tattoo of the outline of Africa on my wrist. she too know what it means to be set aflame.

how poetic.

i still have the small scar and when i need to be brave i touch it and whisper to myself "rise from the ashes". when people ask about the mark on my skin i tell them with a hint of pride in my voice. their faces twist into masks of shock and pity and suddenly i despise their innocence that quickly morphs to envy. how amazing must it be to function?

does the phoenix fear flames or water?

i once argued water, death being the ultimate mystery and looming fear in all our lives (except mine i'm ready to die at any fuckin time @ god)
i imagine it fears the flame more. rebirth. doomed to repeat the same cycle of pain once more. how mystical.

how utterly fucking human.