Fuel for the Fire
You whisper in the quiet,
but your voice is a roar in my chest.
A never-ending static in my head,
a storm cracking through my skull.
You smell like gasoline.
Sharp, bitter, smothering—
the kind of smell that crawls
into your sinuses
and burns your throat.
I am terrified to move,
terrified to breathe,
because with every inhale,
you strangle me.
Your hands, unseen,
pressed against my throat,
and I suffocate on the air you demand.
You bury me alive—
dirt filling my lungs,
the weight crushing my chest.
I scream,
but the sound is swallowed whole,
devoured by the earth you shovelled over me.
I can’t move, I can’t breathe.
And then,
you dig me out.
Fingers raw, frantic,
you pull me from the grave you made.
“It’s okay,” you whisper,
“You’re fine. You’re fine.”
And for a brief second, there’s silence—
a quiet, unspoken bond between us.
I feel the air in my lungs again,
and the weight lifts,
just enough for me to breathe.
I reach for the hand
that nearly killed me,
grasp fingers still stained
with my burial.
Why are you always here?
I beg, I scream,
but your silence is deafening.
You don’t need words—
you’re in my breath,
my bloodstream,
my every thought.
I claw for control,
for the faintest glimpse of light.
And for a moment,
I see it.
I breathe without your shadow;
I move without your chains.
I feel almost human again,
until—
You ignite.
A torch to the paper walls I built.
You scatter my victories like ash,
turn every triumph into smoke.
And so I sit,
alone with you,
always with you.
You are the fire,
and I am the fuel.
We burn together,
Forever.