She dreamed

in rainbow colors,

tracing

silver clouds

with gold,

but

tears painted

wax shutters

on the windows

to her soul.

Black and Blue

on Flesh;

a Charcoal

portrait of remains —

Chalk-White

outlining Ash;

she’d finally

cordoned off

her pain.

the flames of my past,

they ignite at my heart

burning every last bit of hope in me

to ashes.

they spread like a wildfire,

filling my lungs with smoke,

burning every last bit of voice in me

to ashes.

the flames of my past,

they journey to my mind,

burning every last bit of sanity in me

to ashes.

they spread like a wildfire,

embracing me with cold arms,

burning every last bit of me

to ashes.

at least the flames can't burn me anymore.

I can’t feel my scars when the fire covers every inch of me.

“I’m fine.”

I say.

Smolder.

Spark.

Blaze.

Flicker.

Ash.

Repeat.

I have become my flames.

Is that what you wanted?

No.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

Just a shell.

Burn me again.

But nothing is left.

I don’t feel it.

The wind can take me.

Ashes to ashes, they say.

I’m floating in the wind now,

waiting for another fire.

There’s this game I play

where I book plane tickets

to far away places

during quarantine,

to feel the burn

the impossible game of

self-sabotage

like lighting a match

and watching it’s flames

turn blue

on my finger tips

too hot

to stay lit

I push the travel dates back

every single day

And when the airline

representative

Says I

can’t move it back again

I say

I need to go somewhere

Where I can’t feel the burn

the flames can't burn me anymore...

because I'm wearing sunscreen.

Get wrecked, summer.

# Troll_Post

it’s okay

I hear me say

It’s okay if you wanna burn me

I’ve been standing in the fire for so long

the flames can’t hurt me

anymore

-{renata ferretti}

Im tired and begging for change

For a life, for a gain

For a reason to say your name

But my hands are sinched

From sitting in this same chair

Whispering this same prayer

Half a million times

The flames cant burn here

Ashes cant feed fite

Ive burned my hands

My soul for you

Though youve never done the same

The flames can’t burn me anymore.

I’ve been set alight more times then I can count.

My bones and body crumbled into dust eons ago.

Yet, two remarkable things managed to survive the fire.

Managed to cling onto to whatever is left of my chared body.

An ounce of stubbornness and a cup of ”Curse You!”

The flames can no longer burn me...

But they can ruin you.

A fire needs three things to surive.

Oxygen, heat and fuel.

The flames can't burn me anymore.

There is no fuel left, there is no body to burn.

There is no heat in me, I lie cold.

There is no oxygen in lungs burnt to ash.

I lie on the bookself gathering dust.

I once was a person.

I am now an urn.