I'm at the edge of the cliff,
I'm staring down.
Calmed by the familiar landscape
of lush greens and browns.
I use to live there:
tucked in the comfort of the grounds.
The bitter blue skies linger,
where my happiness was found.
As I'm indulging in this nostalgic picture,
I consciously bring it all out.
The gasoline, the box, and then a little match.
I feel so numb. I think I should be sad,
for all the times I've struggled
and always yearned to come back.
So why don't I feel anything
when I pour out the gas?
Is that a smile on my face
as I strike up the match?
I passively accept when I throw it all in.
The flames igniting
and picking up with the wind.
I can't stop laughing
because everything is burning.
The embers are flickering,
they're roaring and turning.
I'm fevered with these feelings,
the sensation's alluring.
Maybe I'll let it consume me,
when the smoke starts swirling.
The tears still fall
through an empty amusement.
It was already gone
no matter which way I lose it.
Might as well light it up,
it's already unnerving.
To emerge through the hot ashes
of a past that has burnt me


© Merrr