The Hottest Fires Burn Blue

 I cannot breathe.

The harder I try to fill
my lungs with oxygen,
the thicker, deeper the fog settles in.

I cannot move either.
It is dark all around me.
I can’t see a thing.

Wait — no.
There’s light now.
Small, shiny,
and blue.

I’m tied to a chair.
It’s getting uncomfortable —
warm, even.
I try to get up.
My efforts go in vain,
my thighs glued to my seat.

My hands are free,
but my legs are not.

The rope is on fire —
the only source
of the now-bright light.

New callouses form
on my fingers and palms
as I discard the shredded remains.

Where is this place?

A twig snaps.
I’m outside.

My feet are burning.
Smoke.

I run.
It just gets worse —
the pain.

I can see in the distance
the soft shine of the moon
reflected on a smooth liquid surface.

Water?

I sprint toward it —
all my might.
Flames at my knees,
climbing north.

But the mirage of the ocean,
of what I thought was salvation,
barely reaches my ankles.

To relieve the hurt,
I fall knees first into the puddle.

And it was never water.

I don’t know what happened after.
All I remember
is the blue halo on my head
and the welcoming embrace of the cold heat
as the puddle burst into flames —

gasoline.

I could show you my burns,
the proof of that night,

but you always were busy
filling fuel
into your deadbeat car,
always from that half-empty
gallon of gasoline.

So I’ll keep to myself
my scars,
my burns.

Anyways, aren’t you always
imploring me
to find a way out of the dark?

Well, I have now.

I have embraced the light.
It lives inside me now
devouring every inch of my soul —

blue,
like the hottest fires.

P.S: wrote this while overthinking 2 days ago, felt it today.