It always started out slow.
A sly spark in the pit of my stomach, an itch that I thought I could just ignore.
But it will spreads, taking it’s time to ignite my other organs and bones, bidding it’s time patiently to consume me whole.
It slithers around my defenses, searching for a crack, for a way in.
It threatens to wreck havoc in this tiny safe haven that I’ve built.
It’s only logical that I respond with resistance.
Fighting to suppress the thirst, to block the plague, to keep the flame at bay.
Yet rationality and reasons drained me, and suddenly keeping safe at the sidelines doesn’t worth it anymore.
So I will let it burn, I will let the flame smothers me as I concedes to the madness.
It will left me scarred, marked and haunted for the rest of my life.
It will reduce me to ashes, a broken product of yet another torments that will make starting over an impossible feat.
But the truth is, that has always been the only possible outcome.
So I might as well go out with a bang.
Let the flame smolder me, and I will welcome them with open arms.
Besides, the brighter the fire is, the quicker it’ll burn out.
À la mort,
Assessing the damage will only drive me mad, so I’d rather turn a blind eye