Burnout: A Requiem for Smothered Passion

Last night, I dreamt of a fire.

This morning as I wake, 

I still feel its ashes,

The shadow of its embers,

The ghost of its warmth,

Long since passed

As I stand in the shower, 

I still remember its brilliance

Unaware of the water scorching my back

Too enthralled by the spectacle behind my eyelids

Phosphenes of dancing tendrils aflame,

swallowing the surrounding night,

Glowing with grace and roaring with rage,

Fierce in its ephemerality

In my mind, I could almost summon its appetence,

Enough to ravage forests,

Enough to raze the world,

Evanescent

As I eat my breakfast, 

I still taste its smoke

Bitter on my tongue

Drying my mouth and cracking my lips

A drearious drought, quenched by nothing,

Scraping the flesh off my lungs with each breath

I cough crimson into my orange juice, it looks like inferno,

Burning my eyes, they melt down my cheeks

Until my toast tastes salty

As I dress, my clothes still smell of smoke too

It clings to the cotton of my brown sweater like a ruminating lover

Hugs the hem of my shirt like a lost child in a toy store

I am reminded of the fire

Every time I change

Tonight, as I go to bed,

I shall tuck my blanket a bit tighter around my bones and

I shall light a candle and wait for it to die as well and

I shall cup my hands around my mouth and

Warm them with breathy promises until my voice runs hoarse

Finally, as I lay in the dark,

My arms crossed like logs,

My face sleek with oily tears,

I shall dream of the fire again.

BY: GRACE PLUMPTON-HILL