I’m a wildfire burning everything good inside me - and I don’t even try to put myself out anymore. I’m poison wrapped in skin, a curse I wear like a second face. Every scar is a map of my failures, every breath a reminder I don’t deserve to be saved. I tear myself apart piece by piece, because maybe the only way to feel something real is through destruction, while I'm trying not to disappear completely into the darkness I keep feeding.
I’m drowning in the ruin of myself, and yet I keep sinking, craving the collapse, the burn, the final undoing. Maybe I don’t want to be saved. Maybe I want to be consumed.
















