Better from here.

Burnt till Black

Lying on a bed of embers

thoughts of gentle winds

in a winter breeze

singe my mind, gentle crease

in my forehead, despair seizes

Knowing I'll never be safe

But was I ever? Skin bubbles

and flakes forming ashes over rubble

Liquid fat runs down my charred

edges, crumbling like paper under

heat, low throbbing of warm is all

my eyes can fathom though the pools

of iris cream pull me through.

A dream I once thought, of running

away. I'll never know where it was

taking me or what I was running from.

But atleast things can only get better from here.