Campfire's flames ignite.
Personal journal in hand,
I toss it away.
The pages burn bright.
Past anxieties shrivel
Into ash, now gone.
Merciless fire eats
The pain withheld for too long
In three mere seconds.
Fire is crass, stern, strong.
If only flames could burn down
The pain in a heart.
About the Creator
Annie
Hello! 🫶 Writing and I have an on-again off-again relationship, as I've lost time or motivation to do it in the past. When I'm inspired, I can't stop. I love it in all forms- fiction, nonfiction, poetry... Thanks for visiting my profile!
Swan
“During the Metal Age, humans took photographs of everything beautiful, which was everything, yet machines did not even wear shoes. The Fauxna thought of a better way. They colored all of the light rose, for a corrupted source cannot be verified.” - Origin Parable, 011
By Nicky Frankly3 days ago in Fiction
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