inevitable combustion
my being breaking down and
like a decorative glass
spilling its wine on the empty masses.
the particles in the thread which so aptly
hold together this battered skin
busting at the seams,
ready to shatter planets.

I can feel

the heat boiling,
and I can see its
invading fires creeping upward
to overthrow trying lids.

a torch for the unknown carried and
released whimsically by puffs of smoke
always asking me
if they can yet have the freedom
to consume this teetering heart
with their savage flames.

one ring of smoke
to answer no,
because in truth I suspect that
they already have…

and I fear having to
wake up each morning
asking myself
if I’m even breathing.