poem i wrote for english but it ate tbh

I knew my fate as I wrote it. 

As soon as my pencil touched the paper,

the silky smooth texture gliding my words across it. 

I know that when I write, 

my paper flares up against my desperate attempt to extinguish it. 

"Why won't my words come out?" 

I kept asking, 

asking to understand where this block came from. 

Even as I opened my eyes to face the world around me, 

I see nothing. 

Except the paper flaring in front of my desperate attempt to save myself.

"I don't need you," 

I yell at the words as if they can hear me. 

I leave the paper to burn.

Watching the sheet curl to the ground, the flames flickering; red, black, red, and then finally,

the flames died down. 

Leaving me with a sheet of paper.

The paper looked up at me, 

showing me the words I let burn.

The words circled me as I let my mind set on fire.

"Why do I still need you?" I asked.

I don't need an old sheet of paper,

paper crumpled; black and ashy.

But I still kept it. 

I kept the paper because I know,

it'll be my only company in this dark room. 

The room where my eyes close and open to flames is gone.

Now, I live with a piece of paper, 

and a brain lit on fire.

But, 

like the paper,

my brain whispers to me.

"I don't need you." 

I don't need you.

I tell my brain as if it can hear me.

The silence in my mind kept still. 

The fire cracking, 

but never losing its shape in the dark room.

"I don't need you." 

I throw the paper away.

Because I know,

the paper was with me when I needed it most.

And now, 

I can write. 

I can set my words free, 

not having them burn hot and painfully in my head.

"I don't need you."

My eyes open to the world around me;

colourful and bright.