Poetry

A poem describing my BPD. 

Druxy 

  Fireworks ignited on the tips of number fingers burning on down, my arms sway like a stiff metronome, side to side, ‘Isn’t it dangerous? To be that close to it all?’. But I yearn for the blowback of blasts to come, A lust for the very deepest pit of fire. ‘Oh what a shame my dying spark’