My life is on fire.
Skin burning and tingling,
your words are kindling as I go up in flames.
But you– you don’t care.
Not now, not yesterday, not ever.
Smoke from our burning memories fill my nose and eyes,
but I promised myself you wouldn’t make me cry ever again.
It stings, but it’s bearable compared to the pain I’ve felt
these last five years.
These last five very long years.
Your voice is the wail of the fire trucks in my ear,
promising safety and security, but came a little too late.
Promises–the words that kept me chained in this old house as it burns.
Each convincing, conniving letter just another metal link.
In the end, I stopped fighting–there was no longer any point.
There are worse ways to die than under your charcoal touch.
My ashes will fly away in the wind, finally free from you.
Finally free from this house–the one even God couldn’t save.
Oh how the house will smolder and burn!
The walls of my figurative jail cell, reduced to glowing embers by your tainted love.
My lips are dry and cracked, leaving me unable to shout.
The smoke–our memories–prevent me from releasing even a whisper.
I loved you with all my heart, and you covered it with gasoline.
I cared for you, and you struck the match.
I promised you the world, and you let it tumble to the ground.
You will say this was an arson job, done by yours truly.
“He just didn’t seem himself lately.”
They’ll never know and it will never hurt them, not like you hurt me.
But eventually, the truth always comes out,
And my spirit will finally be free.