smoke rising into a clear blue sky
someone's got a fire going
because it smells like burning and drowning
at the same time
and at the same time, i'm dying

not dying in the literal sense
my heart beatbeats and my lungs
breathebreathe, but i can't
look at you without feeling ripped apart
and i know, i know
you can't sew me together again

it's not fear, i know that, i know that
it's not love or hate or joy or
any of those useless adjectives they
think i should use

more, it's that i'm stuck
not in a rut
but in a place and a form
and the smoke's rising

you've got a fire going and you're burning me alive.


eighteen never felt so volatile.