confrontation

What you don't know
is that it's already written
Early this morning I plunged a sewing needle in my left eye. The ink in the pupil was enough to scribe a quick note on some weathered papyrus.

What you don't know
is that it's already hidden
Folded razor thin and slid into the waiting abyss of my back pocket, where's its only company is a lost Valentine's Day card and empty candy wrappers.

What you don't know
is that it's already burning
This evening I poured gasoline on myself like 8th grade perfume and held a small brown butane lighter to the sole of my left shoe.

I've been slowly suffocating for the past 3 hours.
The flame has finally reached my eyes.
It's melting the framework of my glasses onto the bridge of my nose
It's cutting at the curbs of my eyelids, ebbing and flowing into my sight

I am now a 6 foot combustable Christmas tree
Joan of Arc, tied on like a candy cane
I was born to die a comet.