gasoline

I walk past the burning flames that once were worshiped as a good-luck charm

Oh, thy blaze of the self! Jung told me about you.

The shadows warn me, whispering their wisdom in immaculate attempts

Do not worry, for redemption has come as kerosene.

Words shaping images, dark metaphors once told,

Ingrained at the last corridors of the heart 

May you rest in pieces.