FIRE
I have 27 journals on my nightstand, but my favorite oneās on fire.
I lick down each page for the intimacy of silence and rage
-I find it amusing that I taste cinnamon and chili flakes.
She holds my secrets,
and they smell like flames,
they taste like garden snakes.
Just as small, but theyāve watched and listened..
I swear to god
If you leave me alone, iāll never linger in your sight..
but if you try and pick my scales, I canāt promise I wonāt bite..
I hiss when I catch my breath
light another cigarette, and trap it in my chest.
I cannot help it,
that I was born with fangs.
but I blame the green in my eyes, on childhood trauma,
and emotional pain..
I use my pupils as an ashtray,
and my eyes smolder brown, because I light my soul on fire,
at least once a day.
Self destruction is an art I canāt betray.
I like to play, and I always think I have control..
Iāve been down this bitter road,
and itās a little too deep.
I overheat
I melt *in sensory overload*
because! I! canāt! keep! it! contained!
I cannot put out a fire
not a lick
or a flame
Sometimes I think I gaslight myself, when I spit venom at my name,
and I read the bible once, so I think iām damned as fucking well.
I donāt thrive under pressure..
So I wrote and sent a letter, to the deepest depths of hell.
but I never heard back
I bookmarked pages of serpents, and hellfire. -tried to syringe toxins from my teeth.
My mouth waters with chili,
and cinnamon..
but I just canāt take the heat.
// Ophydia
FIRE
MindlessVices - Mental Illness
~Seasons and Elements of the Mind~



















