bathing in kerosene.

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  • Sadness

    bathing in kerosene.

    it never was supposed to be this way.
    everything was going to be okay.
    you pulled me from the street.
    and took me home in your jacket.

    doors are to remain locked.
    hiding the children of yesterday.
    hoping nothing will go astray.
    and no one will be found.
    you lifted me through the doorstep.

    bruised and battered,
    you laid me down.
    bloody and dying,
    you tucked me in.
    promising to be back with hope.

    chains hung from the mantel.
    books burned in the fireplace.
    toys collected dust under the bed.
    it was your home.
    and you took me with you.

    the food was cold.
    bugs crawled between bread.
    i couldn't eat.
    so you threw it into the flames.
    hissing and screaming,
    the beatles crackled.

    you lifted me up,
    to the stairs you shuffled.
    and you set me gently in the bathtub.
    my white dress became drenched,
    of the foul smelling liquid
    you poured upon me.

    i didn't move.
    i didn't speak.
    i knew this is what was best.
    this was better than being laid to rest,
    beneath dirt and bones.

    you let me be.
    so that i could bathe.
    you let me alone.
    so i bathed in kerosene.
    and when you came back,
    a match you carried.

    you kissed me lightly.
    and stroked my damp hair.
    the flame was bright.
    but your eyes brighter and you apologized.
    you want to save me.
    this is the only way.

    your hand was shaking,
    as you threw the flame in.

    i didn't move.
    i didn't scream.
    i didn't feel a thing.

    burning flesh,
    i never was so cold.
    i ached knowing you cared.
    you cared enough to help me.
    you let me be,
    bathing in kerosene.
    and it was you that lit the match.
    that saved my smile.

    and with my last breath.
    i inhaled the smoke.
    and i felt it settle among my lungs.
    a blanket for my voice.
    i felt you grab my hand through flames.
    and i left,
    a smile upon my face.

    you cared so much.
    to let me be.

    i bathed in kerosene.
    just to heal.

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    Phoenix9 commented on bathing in kerosene.

    11-25-2008

    very well written

    Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

    HoudinisDancer’s Poems (13)

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