If you cannot be a poet, then be a poem

Her fingers melt between mine

She turns my hands over

Reading my palms, she writes my future

She says that I could write amazing things

I close my eyes

Her fingers trace the burns on my arms

As the burn marks turn into flames

Tears of ash are cried

Ash from my burning love

Everything that I’ve worked for

Going up in our flames

We burn together until the end

It is the end

She’s sure of it

I would love you forever, she says

You especially

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