Charred

“Maybe tonight
I’ll call you
after my blood turns into
alcohol——”

And later that night,
we burn bodies like bridges
and choke on our smoke.
Tears smear soot and screams sound
too much like sirens
and your mouth is scorching
the vast forest of my skin.

Have you ever seen trees surrounded by ash?
Something growing from the dead.
Tinder rising from what burnt it down.

We repeat the cycle,
monthly,
weekly,
nightly.
Because you refuse to let
alcohol be the only warmth
that caresses your tongue. .

Your amber colored brandy,
the embers in my eyes.
You are striving to starve out fire
and simultaneously stoke your soul.

Lover,
addictions and
destruction do not have to
be cruel reflections of one another.
Just understand,
that fire is not synonymous with
“passion”
and in the end,
everything burns
going down.

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