Burning My Life

I cast it all into the raging fire.
All of it – photo albums, my bank account, my clothes, my memories.
( My life, my heart, my soul, my dreams)
Burning my life.
Well, not really, but figuratively it feels thus. I’ve given up, my hands thrown high, waving a white shred of fabric in surrender.
Let it all catch, the corners first, curling up amber orange and smoldering. Oily smoke begins to snake from beneath, rising up to the heavens in petition. Petition for what, who knows, as I’ve damned myself. Bright, persimmon flame consumes everything that I’ve fed it, leaving only ashes, testament to a life. Nothing but ashes, returning to the earth.

Let’s have a right conflagration.
Why not?
I am furious.
I am forlorn.
I am desolate.
This life has laid waste to me.
Where does this malevolent energy come from?
I know this feeling, no stranger this emotion, this abandon. This moment where I say ‘Fuck it’ and toss everything into the bonfire at my feet, burning in a white hot frenzy. Once I start I can’t stop, the despair of my actions lending itself to further futility. I can see myself do it. An out of body experiencing watching my destruction bent, wild-self, mesmerized like a fire starter with flames reflecting in her eyes. How can I stand there seeing my life train wreck right in front of me? In that moment there is no remorse. My life burns from the inside out, self annihalation of the worst kind.

When I get truly angry, a temper unbridled and careless of consequence -vitriolic words, irrational actions, a heart hardened by too much anguish.
A burning rage that consumes all in it’s path.
Innocent or guilty; all will be lost, heartless ruler that I am over my own life.
Moments when I am far too sensitive, a sea anemone that closes in upon itself at the merest of touches, overreacting to a lover or friend. Refusing to say that simple word – sorry. Refusing to accept apology. Refusing to be open and vulnerable to love because it might result in pain. Pulling hurt about me like sticks and thorns and bits of fluff, hiding and nesting in my self-induced agony. Let it all burn I think to myself, for I am the ultimate Saboteur. An overwhelming sensation of a mess too far gone.
Beyond cleaning.
Beyond redemption.
My life, my mess, offering myself up like a sacrifice, my limbs tied Joan of Arc like to the stake. Killing my life. Murder in the first. Like the long gone Lady Macbeth ‘Out, out damn spot!’ Blood on my hands, never to be washed away.

The fire is always there, ever hungry, it is for me to choose to feed it – or not.

• Favorite
• Report Concern
• Share This
  • Facebook
  • Twitter

Add your comment

You need to login or signup to add your comment to this work.