Sometimes I Feel It

Sometimes
I feel it — the immediacy of the thing I need to say,

a burning from the inside out,
and I cannot remove
my hand
from the match,
not even as I watch it burn down,
not even as I see it burn
my fingers,
not even as I see it catch
everything
and make it go up
in smoke.

Sometimes
I feel it — an urgency,

a need to bear down
and watch the thing be born,
even as it tears me to shreds,
even as I am laid

bare

and bloody,
knowing it was your fault
as much as mine.

Sometimes
I feel it — a hate I never wanted,

never knew how to carry,
but it’s all for me,

isn’t it?

All of it — for me.

No tags for this post.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Fiction. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Sometimes I Feel It

  1. araneus1 says:

    “and I cannot remove
    my hand
    from the match,
    not even as I watch it burn down,”

    love that line!
    Terry

  2. Trent Lewin says:

    Feeling your pain, Jones. I can’t look away.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.