On Living with the Smell of Smoke

i burn most every bridge once i’ve crossed and come to realize i can’t go back. sometimes it’s can’t, sometimes it’s won’t. either way some shit has had to get burned.

i used to revel in the glory of the flames. used to cross a bridge only with the intention to burn it to the ground. i used to need the fires to light my way forward. i used to set fire to entire forests just to keep myself safe, to keep myself warm, to keep the predators out. and still there are things, people, places i wish i hadn’t destroyed.

no one ever said the monster doesn’t regret stomping through the whole town. just cause it’s a monster doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel, doesn’t know what it means to lose a precious thing. even a sinner knows what’s sacred.

i have destroyed more inside myself than i have outside of myself. i am full of ashes, full of kindling too. and still living in search of an extinguisher. sometimes all i smell is smoke. and i feel my inner child choking. but sometimes my fire is the only thing lighting my way.