It's easy to burn
when despair fuels a fire
set clumsily where my ribs meet.
My insides are hollow
filling slowly with the thick smoke
of my fleeting hopelessness;
It presses itself against my withering organs.
When I speak, I speak in carcinogens,
watch my words dissipate,
get a blood rush sensing your disgust.
I am vacuous.
I am desperate.
It's easy to burn
when despair fuels a fire
and I'll be warm
even when there's nothing left to burn.
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