Published by

Anonymous

Wachinagi

Contact Wachinagi
Bronze Poet

Little Fires

Little Fires
Rate this poem

I walk the empty streets of a mind that was once my own, everything there seemingly reflections of myself. 
Seeing reflections of my past lives that weren’t really mine.  I never lived them and they don’t know me. 
Rain falling steady.  Am I dancing?  Or am I just wet…?

I want to read a dictionary, so I can remember my words. 
I can buy an expensive word, and I can forge and mold it into a rubber stamp. 
I can stamp that word all over town, I can use my blood as ink and we’ll paint the town red. 
What heavy burden waits around the next turn?

Take this back, take me back, take that back.  I’ve been given something. 
I got it as a gift, I lost the receipt, can I exchange it for complacency?

Am I becoming what I hate most, or have I just gotten better at hating myself?

Little fires little fires, glowing embers in my brain.
Pecans, dates, and spider bites.  Spider bits.  Perhaps a little bit of something I once was…
Little bits little bites little fires in my brain
Little glowing memories that won’t burn away.

My insanity does tend to keep me company most nights.  The opened doors beg to be closed, the holes beg to be filled.  Everything has a purpose, every item a use.  Fires are meant to burn themselves out. 

Grim ash is all I want to see.  Bathed in gray, veiled in neutrality. 
I can’t even get near that gray peace, the intense heat holds me at arms length.  I must wait.  Have to wait

Wait for my little fires
Wait for our glowing past
Wait for my burning mind
To just burn itself away.





Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *