
you fill my stomach with the tickle
of delightful heat
flaming ardor
you guide me down illegal paths and
half-hidden alleyways
i follow recklessly like a moth
drawn to the light too close
and i am singed
too far
and i have lost all direction
you are prometheus,
the martyr, the sage
in the darkness of uncertainty
mother drew the curtains shut
where we are all the same
father locked the doors
one spark and the whole house
burns down
they say you’re a fire hazard
i say you’re the light
at the end of the tunnel,
the door to truth,
but the authorities prevail
so mother snuffs you out,
father tightens the locks,
and we are plunged into familiar darkness once more
Seventeen and scared of highly concentrated sulfuric acid. Occasionally creative.