Poetry

The pain cycle
celebrates the pitfall,
dedicates to the eternal flame
of catharsis.

Syllables were ready to
burn word by word,
orchestrated for a
random repeat.

Like blue veins opening
in dark without spilling the―
blood. But no answers
were coming to compliment you.

Image of self in mirror
sometimes frightens. Now
you begin living without―
body, metaphysically.

A bonfire starts.