Smoke

There is no smoke to the fire that burns inside my head. I can see the lights flaring, it’s glaring, burning through nights where I should be having fun. Every piece of wood on the fire is a phrase or idea uttered by another person. This is not a case of arson, I swear. They gave me the fuel with every statement I took the wrong way. Now I have to pay for their mistakes. I have a cabinet full of water that’s supposed to work. But why am I the one that hurts? Is this the way fires starts without a spark? When did it start to engulf every cell of my mind? Please God, someone find me even a glass of water. How much longer can it burn? I found her who puts a blanket over the flame, but every other thing she says burns a piece of fabric away.

I am supposed to be happy. I spent weeks in hell where the fire was a mere candle to the inferno around me. I am supposed to happy. I love her but the water doesn’t always work. I am the only one that hurts. There is no smoke from the fire burns away my soul. But each day there is always more coal.   

Image source: yasincrow 

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