the writer and the fire.

in our darkest moments

that’s when you realise

the absence of light.

alive in the dark but

there is no solace to be found.

so now you have two choices;

ignite his soul

burn, darling, burn

to bring light into your dark corners.

(even when you don’t want him to)

he’s your guide in the abscess.

the hand holding you sternly.

but you’re warm.

your life is at risk and safe

all at the same time.

handcuffed,

out of necessity.

he likes it like that.

oh, and so do you, right?

right?

enthralled by the security.

the warmth is plastic.

underneath the plastic lies

an ugly truth.

 

please, i can’t do this anymore.

 

i choose to burn.

burn the embers of

the mistakes.

the illusion of safety.

the unwanted hands.

stop. stop. stop.

where in hell did you lead me

and why won’t you take me out of here.

burn the paths taken.

burn, burn, burn.

 

solace is in solitude.

well, until the roads ahead clear.

trudging my way back,

alone.

 

i choose to burn.

burn the midnight oil.

write the next few lines.

i choose when to stop.

right here

full stop.

 

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