I feel the words crawling up my spine,
entangled
by cobwebs I have been weaving
in my throat.
I let those words dissolve 
till their existence 
ceases to hold any meaning,
I let them melt, and 
I drape them around my tongue
like the sun guttering into 
the ocean of poison.

My throat feels like a flower 
slit at its stalk,
gasping for breath
when buried amidst the poems
that sleep silently
in their coffins.

The flames of the fire burning
Beneath my flesh
sometimes resemble flickering candles
but most of the time it is a wildfire.
My charred flesh is only
A few wildfires away from
crumbling into ashes.
The rising and falling of flames
creating a symphony that
sounds melodious no longer.

I loathe the figure on
the other side of the mirror
mortified at its ability to speak,
but never say enough.
I am a rope of despair and dejection
wrapped around nothing
over and over again until
it resembles a human form.
The stacks of unsaid words
churn like a windmill
in circles of solitude,
inside my abdomen
I breathe, I bleed.

I strangle my feelings
right in their infancy so
as I peel away the
auburn layers of my heart
the escaping asphyxiant will turn
my body into a gas chamber and
your fingertips too
would taste like a holocaust.