Burn Me

The tobacco
Continues its hot
Creeping
Transformation
Of authenticity,
To ash,

Approaching
My suspecting
Fingertips.

Scorching,
Unforgiving,

Defining
With certainty
A transformation
Of what is real,
And physical,

To an afterlife.

And if I shun
The probable casualty
To my flesh,

Despite the coolness,
And supposed
Safety of my drink,

Hurtful ramifications
Await
Me.

The longer
I hold on
To this smoke…

Or you,

The gravitas
Of the injury
To me
Will be laid bare.

So…

What to do?

Holding on to this
Flame,

In my hand,

The tobacco…

Or you,

Unquestionably
Results in pain.

Therein lies the complexity.

Do I succumb
To the assured
Nearness
Of agony,

Of holding on?

Or do I avoid the pain…

And

Simply

Let

Go?

I choose to hold on…

Fully accepting
The decided ramifications

Of my choice.

Better to know,
And love…

And experience the depth
Of life,

Than always
Wondering

What it might have been.

I choose to hold on…

Do what you will.

If you must…

Burn me.

© 2018 W. C. Stacia, Jr.

12 thoughts on “Burn Me

    1. So kind of you! I saw your post describing the increased demands on your time… which makes your investment of that scant resource reading my work all the more meaningful. So much appreciated, and I wish you all the best in your new endeavors!

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I took the time this evening specifically to catch up on reading. No worries and thank you, I enjoy your work. I’m not gones forever so you’ll see me soon 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

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