[thisislife]

I have seen the world and it is burning;
I have seen my flesh and it is burning;
I have seen the topless towers of Ilium come cascading
Down down down
And burning
To the deepest pit
Is burning
And my eyes
Are burning and opening wider than I have ever known.
But these sockets–
They sputter sparks like an engine
And scatter cinders in spirals.
All this is burning
And this is truth.

I believe myself to be carrying acrid fire.
I can feel it on lonesome days when the rain falls
And my sadness seeps through my legs
Until I cannot get up any more.
Drizzles of gold leaking through my window—
Fear death by water, wreathed in poppling boil.
I smell like dust and ancient things, I like to think,
But perhaps that is merely the bedsheets.
They hold me like tradition.
They are sure in this world
And this is truth.

But my mind is aflame and quivering still;
Take these thoughts from my head: they are burning.
Take these breaths from my lips: they are
Burning.
Take these words from my tongue: they
Are burning
And eating of me
Until there is nothing left
But the vicious want that spits from my lips:
The guttural consonant,
The streams of molt.
This burns me new, but I fear my hunger
And I wish for something to hold on to
Yet still know that nothing is certain.
I have seen the towers of Troy fall
In unwavering defiance to their majesty,
And in short, I was afraid.
I am scared of what might be real in this world,
And this is truth.

I remember the horror in Priam’s eyes
When his world was toppling down.
And on some nights I wake, sultry,
Damp with fear of the fire.