The fire of burnt down bridges
takes the longest of time to burn,
each flame slowly eating up every timber of love.
But eventually you watch it die;
a farmer watching his barns
in encircling conflagrations,
vowing to forget,
to drown a painful remembrance.
But somehow the smoke slithers
on the sleek surface of the wind,
Shattering my window without a sound.
I am disturbed, haunted by the soul
of a dead fire,
wrestling insomnia, shivering beneath a wrinkled blanket.
How do I sleep knowing I still have parts of me resting within you?
Fragments like the influence
of my juvenile philosophies?
Or the name of my favorite band?
YOU ARE READING
Anxiety and Things that Shatter
Poetry"Anxiety, you are lightening and a thunder only I can hear. In my despair, you wear an intimidating smile like a glittering stretch mark on the skin of the horizon." Cover by @DeathsDarkSoul
