Burn
I do sometimes write happy things. Sometimes.
Piled kindling
Days, hours, minutes
Broken to flinders
Stacked with care
Around my feet
Piling high into the air
Years old are the smallest scraps
That burn with brightest heat
Thin like paper
Only on my deathbed to remember
Those long-forgotten days, months, years
New fuel to unlit flames
Soaked in unshed tears to stoke the blaze
For the wasted time
Locked into a decaying mind
Atop a pyre of my own design
Days, minutes, hours
Gathered up like fallen flowers
Piled amongst the kindling
Waiting
Waiting
Waiting
The spark made bright by my last breath
The flash of light a star's violent death
To feast on hours, minutes, days
Until all I was is burned away
All that could have been
Before the time slipped through my fingers
And broke to flinders
Before the candle of one life
Burned to cinders
About the Creator
Alexander McEvoy
Writing has been a hobby of mine for years, so I'm just thrilled to be here! As for me, I love writing, dogs, and travel (only 1 continent left! Australia-.-)
"The man of many series" - Donna Fox
I hope you enjoy my madness
AI is not real art!
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