If I set myself on fire,
will I finally see the light?
Will darkness finally leave my body?
Will my chains finally melt?
As my lungs fill with ash,
I’ll probably be thinking of you;
I’ll be thinking about whether or not
I’ll burn bright enough for you to see me.
If you were a cigarette,
I wouldn’t mind the blackened lungs
or the shortness of breath–
I wouldn’t even mind the stench.
I wouldn’t mind my burning eyes,
my dwindling lifespan,
or the taste of death in my mouth.
Why would I?
Take my lungs and let them be for you.
Damn me, as long as I’m with you,
sans your love,
sans my peace.