The Aforementioned Poetry
Into the Flames
Suffocating in the depths of the sea,
My lungs abandon me
And each breath is forced.
Frightened to be risen to the dark
It holds itself captive within my bony prison.
Still, it must escape because of how I was made,
And so I learn to feel the burn-
The burn that rages,
Dies and roars again
As I take the breath that I do dread.
The painful necessity mocks,
Laughs as it sustains me
Only to cause more agony
That grasps onto my soul like an iron fist.
And I, helpless and weak,
With all my might try to disentangle myself from it,
Pry open those fingers and set myself free.
Then my spirit is spent and hangs limply in the hand,
Waiting to be devoured into the nothingness
That have shown its power.
Of course that would be too easy for me,
To just be gone and set free
From everything around and all that is not.
And so with renewed energy the fist shakes me
And my head and limbs sway like a rag doll.
Black spots cover all as I strive to see,
My heart pounding like a drum that has no beat.
It holds me over a fire that crawls up my skin
And I gasp as the flames travel up my shin,
And as they go, lick at my heart,
Slowly devouring it into a pile of ash
That drifts aimlessly in the starless skies
That lie within me.
The heat rises to my eyes and the steam,
With beads of moisture are released,
Sizzling as they travel down my scorching cheeks.
And finally with a crash and a cry,
The flames die and I,
Turned to a pile of grime and dust,
Must lie there until turned to rust.
Or perhaps like the phoenix does,
I shall rise again from that pile of dust.
Only to be strangled once again,
In the natural cycle that never ends.
Suffocating in the depths of the sea,
My lungs abandon me
And each breath is forced.
Frightened to be risen to the dark
It holds itself captive within my bony prison.
Still, it must escape because of how I was made,
And so I learn to feel the burn-
The burn that rages,
Dies and roars again
As I take the breath that I do dread.
The painful necessity mocks,
Laughs as it sustains me
Only to cause more agony
That grasps onto my soul like an iron fist.
And I, helpless and weak,
With all my might try to disentangle myself from it,
Pry open those fingers and set myself free.
Then my spirit is spent and hangs limply in the hand,
Waiting to be devoured into the nothingness
That have shown its power.
Of course that would be too easy for me,
To just be gone and set free
From everything around and all that is not.
And so with renewed energy the fist shakes me
And my head and limbs sway like a rag doll.
Black spots cover all as I strive to see,
My heart pounding like a drum that has no beat.
It holds me over a fire that crawls up my skin
And I gasp as the flames travel up my shin,
And as they go, lick at my heart,
Slowly devouring it into a pile of ash
That drifts aimlessly in the starless skies
That lie within me.
The heat rises to my eyes and the steam,
With beads of moisture are released,
Sizzling as they travel down my scorching cheeks.
And finally with a crash and a cry,
The flames die and I,
Turned to a pile of grime and dust,
Must lie there until turned to rust.
Or perhaps like the phoenix does,
I shall rise again from that pile of dust.
Only to be strangled once again,
In the natural cycle that never ends.