Fire.

August 17, 2017

The day my house burned down

I held a glass of water

and hoped it wouldn't spread.

Thought of my possessions

and if there'd be anything left,

the woman that I barely knew

burning in my bed.

I wished I had a water pistol

or the will to save myself,

to care if I lived or died,

to care about my health.

 

So I called 911 instead

to delegate my fate,

tanned my skin in the flames

throughout the entire wait.

When they carried me out

I knew I'd risked their lives,

incidentally we all survived.

 

Even the woman

who hasn't called since. 

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