someone stop me,
i am burning
not from the outside,
but on the inside,
where you cannot see
the scorched ashes
floating in my lungs
my heart has been
charred and blackened;
if you were to reach down my throat,
and attempt to curl your fingers
around the most fragile of organs,
you would find nothing more
than a cracked stone
someone stop me,
i am on fire,
and the matches are nestled
not in my hands,
but somewhere in my ribs,
roasting my flesh
and searing my bones
there are no dreams in my head,
they have all been obliterated
by the darkness that seeps in;
if you were to search through my thoughts,
you would be disturbed
by the stark lack of optimism,
you would hurt for me
someone stop me,
i am vanishing
into thin air and out of sight;
but there is no you
to reach down my throat and find my heart,
and there is no you
to search through my thoughts for optimism
there is no you,
and that is why i am vanishing
because there is no one
to stall the burning,
to quench the fire,
to retrieve the matches;
there is no one to stop me
YOU ARE READING
broken bikes
Poetrypoetry is a vice. ➳ 2014 watty awards winner for poetry ➳ gorgeous cover by @mountainy