My skin, unzipped,

and heart is bare.

There are no mirrors

to mock the emotions I do not

choose to feel

dripping

from my face.

I am melting.

In this room

a candle burns, flames

lick at my truth,

my desire.

Jaw clenched

I scream

I’ll set this whole f***ing house on fire!

And I did.

Because you would not simply

come in; refused

the invitation

to take off your shoes

before stomping on my floor,

trudging

slowly through the door-

way at first,

hesitant, since the flames I’d unleashed were

inconsistently lethal, but then

with power and purpose

stormed in

and splashed through

my shame (that somehow had made its journey from my face to the floor,

which was now melting too, because

God, it was just too hot to have a mask keep its form)

without consideration, but wavering

so slightly with the heat, you blew out the candle.

Like it was nothing.

Like I was nothing.

With my disguise cemented to your shoe, you left, walking

unevenly, half in sin and half disgrace.

The darkness was coloured with silence, and since I could see nothing,

and hear the absence of it, I knew I was alive,

but barely living.

How foolish of me to think that I could defeat you with

a blaze

forged from a

small flame

struck from my life,

and fed by your name.