a poetic prose
i had hoped that my sacrifice would somehow cool what has been set aflame inside of me. but the girl younger than noon who lives within my being constantly begs me to free her from her inevitable demise. once, i offered her my future. i wrote her as my only. i whispered a promise that this would not be a generational curse, but she used my arrogance to light the furnace in my being. she wanted me to burn completely; she said it was only fair since that was how i had left her. being made of the same stock, i refused to give in. instead, i offered her a compromise. i let my rosewood be used to light her fire. i hid my screams in her hair as i burned for her. she laughed at my sacrifice and used me as an excuse for her to wreak havoc. she swore it was just deserts for everything she did not get and would never receive. she screamed that childhood is just a phase adulthood memorializes on the walls of mortality to fuel our ever-growing anxiety about death. meaning that i would just have to accept that i would always be somewhat stuck in a past only she remembered.
