In This Poem, Everything Is Up In Flames

The early morning clouds witness as I orchestrate my body into a cottage of flames
for what is proof of a man’s valor if he doesn’t know the taste of fire. I sit in the

backyard ignoring the piercing wrath of the sun’s shine as my lighter sharpens
the countenance of the cigar in my hand. It’s only the third hour of the day but

it’s already my fourth attempt at cleansing the bullet wound in my soul with smoke
And to every one of the previous three- now depicted as bare ashes lying haplessly

on the ashtray set before me, I had lent a part of me. Perhaps this gnarly cough I give
out after the second puff of this is a true depiction of me- Beautiful chaos. Flame balls

like bells from a desolate cathedral shoot out of my mouth and my skin struggles to house
it’s fume, if this body was meant to contain all my desires, why then are my lungs the center

of a brewing war. Oh!, It’s only flesh. A wilting flower. I hear the rooster’s crow loud and clear
as dusk creeps up on me but probably it’s only a whisper, probably it’s just another one of my

many hallucinations. By this time, my eyes are all blurry but if the world around me would continue to
be this fading dream, then I would have it no other way.

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