It Burns

If it is insanity that makes the fire so enticing to the hand,
The evidence of stubbornness is in the multitude of burns.
Why was the lesson not learned at the first whiff of char?
What compelled me to dare and dare again?

You could interpret it as punishment
That this bird will no longer visit your windowsill.
No gradual detachment, just the growing ache of distance
And the knowledge that this shoe will be forever dropping.

Complete severance after years of tentative trust
Left me with a lust for your blood.
Longing to crush every part of you,
To match our mangled selves and settle.

The anxiety about you is at rest now
And I have no need to see you destroyed.
The sickness in me still strokes the shiny patches,
Remembering the heat.

~ by Athena on December 8, 2014.

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