F o u r t h o f J u l y
The smell of burning
is the remnant of fireworks
and people still cheer,
as if it isn't fire
and explosions
and gas
and lights
but mostly destruction,
we all have different forms.
I just happen to prefer my body as the canvas
and not the skies because really, not everyone needs to see
to know the ending is coming soon.
Instead of slowly fading out like the fireworks,
I am burning way too fast and I don't think anyone can put the fire out.
Not that they'd try.
They're convinced 'girls like me'
are only meant to burn and be used as warmth,
as if the comfort of a lost youth can prove the world hasn't changed
and there is still the good and bad.
I guess I'm a whole lot of grey
in this black and white world and that scares them
because everything is not as it seems.
When is it ever?
YOU ARE READING
destruction
PoetryShe set out to destroy herself, piece by piece she fall apart until the remains were too scattered and maybe she should've stopped from lighting herself on fire but why would she, when she had a lighter and the world around her was a tank filled wit...
