I was born into a burning house
My skin was melted from my bones
The voices raised as I lifted my head
The moment I learned to speak my mind
I watched others receive rivers of love
that flowed endlessly through my eyes
but any love that I was given
Was burnt within the embers of loneliness
And it disintegrated in my hands
I grew up in a burning house
As a child of delicate paper
Sister to kindle, daughter of spark
to mother of flame and father of flint
There is no room for paper, no purpose in bonfire
other than to catch flame and burn alive
to boil down to the very essence of water at my core
to not be, to become nothing at all.
I was a child born in a burning house
-3AM
