I burn, I blaze wildly out of control. And I’d hoped, I’d hoped that the fire was your way of directing anger, hatred against me. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. I’m still on fire, though, and in need of sanctuary.
I need, I need help, freedom in the water as the sea surges against my body, steam rising into the black air that cuts against me, kissing my lips as the wind tears by.
I need to extinguish the flames, soak my feelings dry until I can combust no more.
But still, I can’t make it, I can’t make it. It’s too hot, burning in the blaze, red ice as it all crawls up my arms, into my pores and enters the bloodstream.
Sit. Sit down before you collapse, before you disintegrate. I want the ocean, and it’s within sight, over the railing, past your barriers of fire. And I need it. I need it now. Yet I can’t move.
The bench is wooden, flammable and soft to the touch as the fire slowly spreads from my body, clothes, and mind.
I’m almost there, though. Just over the railing, one jump, one hoist over this barrier that’s keeping me from the sea.
I’m on fire as I fall.
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