† poem -- burning

I am burning. 

there is a fire inside of me, 

but I am not the fire. 

I am just the kindling

that the fire uses

to keep itself from going out. 

I am the oxygen

that the fire takes

when it needs to burn bright.

stealing my breath, 

draining my life

it needs it more than I do,

so I let it.

I am the flint

chipped away at

until the fire sparks

What will happen,

when too much has been chipped away

when I am no longer a good rock to start the fire?

and you,

you are the fire.

hurting me,

yet holding me close just the same

you need me

but you have never wanted me.

the logs get replaced 

as the fire licks at them, 

turning them to coal and ash.

the oxygen is consumed 

and burned away

The flint rock is broken

until it's no more than a pebble

and what becomes of me?

after i have given away 

everything that i possibly can?

i won't be of use anymore

the fire has burned me

until i am nothing more than ashes

swept aside when the fireplace is cleaned