arson of the self by Michelle Ramaa (15, New Jersey)

[Content warning: self-harm and suicide]

​somewhere beneath 
                  her raw, patchwork skin, 
                  there is a burning candle, lit within ivory moon-ribs. 
                  its wax drips down 
through her sunken chest, 
                  and when it is spent, the 
                  undead heart will finally rest. once the flame has 
                  filled her hollow lungs, 

---

the fire will spread, the sun 
                  will rise on silent tongue. 
                  and if her mouth tastes razor-sour, of gas, her soul will 
                  remember the mistakes, the sins of the forsaken past. 
after cigarette burns sticker 
                  the sore flesh of her thighs, 
                  the eyes will open - it is 
                  not yet time to die. 
now that she has been
                  saved, she will find a
                  better way to murder
                  ​the leathery pain.

​