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Burning
She’s burning
Trapped in her fiery sin
Except this time
Their fire is real
I see her skin
Turning a white to black
As she is skewered
Through the sugary lust
Of the big ones
The ones who burn
Our mortality is fragile
Being ripped
Piece by piece
As the woman emerging
Lets out one final shriek
They feel no durable guilt
When her face goes straight
into the wood
Surrounded by dirt
And more wood
And more flames
I stare
I die from the inside
As she really is
And realize
I’m next
The pool of my existence is shallow
getting deeper
And I can’t help but think that they don’t care
Why would they
About simple marshmallows like me?

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The reason why I had written this poem was originally as a challenge. In my school's Writing Center Mr. Conway, the writing center teacher, claimed that nobody could write a good poem about marshmallows. That obviously caught my attention, and I decided to write one from the marshmallow's point of view at a bonfire. The "big ones" that I speak of are, indeed, humans. Mr. Conway and I spent a very long time on the neding, as we didn't want it to be too abrupt or cliche. We wanted it to be subtle, and I really hope that we provided that for you. Without further ado, this is "Burning". Enjoy!
~Juptej Singh