all my soul knows is the pitch
all my soul knows is this black
all my soul knows is a sea of sorrow
all my soul knows is this death
all my soul knows is the ash
when will I simply get to fly free? always a phoenix, forced to emerge.
a home burnt to the ground
and I lay there in the ruin,
a bed of soot.
I don’t shiver even as the breeze like ice cuts into my bones
my soul’s already gone too cold.
the twinkle in the night sky gone,
heavens obscured by an ash curtain,
reflecting the void in my gaze.
a blank stare into a starless night.
even after the wildfire
never did I know what it was like
to truly lose my home.
the past strangles me
pierces me
tangled in its barbed wire.
if I were to burn myself alive
would the past be taken, too?
so the cycle of the phoenix
continues.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 