poem

to burn and burn and be afraid and somehow not turn to ashes.

love must have some end consequences;

it can’t just sit in me like a ball of fire, that biblical bush that wouldn’t be consumed nor extinguished.

perhaps it’s for the best, this is anything but vague, sharper than a knife’s edge.

it may be unspeakable, something that only makes sense sheathed into my mind.

as long as it’s there, there is nothing to fear.

it can stay always and I would never bleed out, never turn it against you.

both a demand and a threat.

it can stay half-unreal, postponed, and thus, in some mad way, possible.

to burn and burn and somehow not turn to ashes.

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