we all look like burnt books
blowing in the breeze.

i’m wafting with the exhumed memories.
before my legs even hit the dew,
you watch me dwindle to
a million floating pieces.
the contract ascertained a certain
ephemeral appeal and
 I’m too thirsty to complain
about anything but the heat in here.
hold your breath
and wait
for some other current to take me.

there are no exits.

“self-immolation”

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