Ignite

I don’t write the words that comfort you. They’ve never been meant for that.

I don’t write the words that please you.

I write words of flame, turning to cinders your convictions.

I write words of pain, attempting to make you feel, something, anything.

I write crooked pages of rage, dark slashes marring the whiteness.

I write the broken manuscript of an uneasy spirit.

I write so you can hurt. Feel my hurt.

I write of how it scalds my skin. My bones. My soul.

I can’t write the words that reassure you.

I can’t write the words, for when I utter those falsehoods.

I burn.

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