Minds aflame | Poetry

What a wondrous world it is in bathe within
when it’s nothing but nostalgia gnawing at your
knitted brows as you rock beside a quiet hum
of yellow flames. Your mind too tame to have been born
beyond a memory, ebbing in the radiance of a fire
you’d conjured with your palms. A quiet
sits beside you waiting
watching as a needle roaming into fabric
sews up the specks of love
you lost and found and now forget the hiding place
you’ve left them.
It’s falsehood they would tell you
to try repair the severed, but you try.
Your fingers tangled in a thread, a mess, a tangle
not undone.
You do not snip. Or cut or bruise.
You wait.
There’s a door you slightly tilt your head towards.
It never moves
save the waver of a fire crawling up its walls.
But you don’t depart from this o wondrous world
where nostalgia’s chewing at your heart
and the strings you held together
fall apart.
You hold a hope that’s less a hope and more
a ghost.
You’re waiting for a nothing and your mind’s a mess
the fire’s burning in your eyes
like tears that’ve learnt to never leave their reservoir
and in the midst of echoes burning into silence,
you hear a whisper
someone says:
“Welcome to hell my darling.”

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