I was content when the house burned down
and melted silicon pasted on the walls portraits
of everything I left pending.
I know fear isn't what we're taught to embrace
but when I can place it by my bed and sing it a song
I feel happy.
Two years ago my future was an old rope with coarse twines
protruding from every angle.
Before the scars on my hands formed,
it burned a lucid orange and left no ash.
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