It Burns with Post Script

Have you ever wept to the point
Your skin was left singed?
As if each tear was an ember,
The fragments of once-was-passion,
Leaving a trail of red from the corner of your eyes.

My fingers trace the burn marks,
Needlessly wiping away the embers;
My soul remains scorched all the same.
I dismiss its watery association,
As only fire burns.

To douse it is akin to self-harm,
So let me burn!
Let my fiery tears kindle within me
A blaze worth weeping for.

-k.r.r.

I let myself be singed. To accept it is to understand it. I’ll accept being burned if it means understanding you better.