All That Remains

some days, i am my inner child

learning that warmth is not safe,

that there is no escape

from a home always on fire.

screams muffled by roars of the flame,

smoke curling my ribs, a coiled snake.

other days, i am the house,

a raging teen painted in heat.

protecting the life

i promised to keep

safe from all

as small as a mouse.

any hand that knocked

left blistered and sore,

every fireman watered down

from the one before.

head filled with smoke—

blinded by ash.

dying laughter

echoes my past.

“Sweetheart, can’t you see,

that everyone will leave.”

26 years old,

the fire’s barely gone out.

charred memories glow

among embers of youth.

barefoot on coal, ashes to shoe,

surrounded by my very own wreckage:

of safety, of warmth,

and all of my damage.

a fight for survival

is only won in its absence.

as i turn to leave,

an orange light glows at my feet,

a small piece of innocence all mine to keep.

a tiny flickering flame—

all that remains.