The flame burns the skin,
Turning me to ash and bone,
But eventually my bones will go.
And I'll only be a memory.
And you'll be reminded of me,
Of the flame, of the life, as you
Display me on your hearth in hopes
To forget me.
But you'll remember me in flame,
Where my bones became brittle
And my eyes sallow.
This as why I asked to be buried.
You can forget the maggots eating at my skull,
But you cannot forget me in flame.
YOU ARE READING
The Beginning To The End
PoetryI've never been a poet, that much is certain, but I can tell you that it does get written. A lot. These are the collections of my poetry I've written, and some of them hit hard for me.
