Funeral pyre
Although it seems like all has been lost and all has been taken away, I know this thing in me won't stop until all has been laid waste. This thing in me wants to burn down this house, burn it to the ground, and laugh as the rain unsuccessfully tries to put it out. There will be ashes in place of me. There will be a new day, but I won't see it. There's a hate in me that's turned inward, tearing as it screams its way from bone to sinew, from organ to meat, from synapse to socket and back. It's furious, and it's tired and bored. There's nothing to see here but the end. And it will see it. The end is near for me. I feel it quivering in my chest. I feel it whispering on the wind. I hear the layman and the scholar alike tell of it. There's nothing left in this world I want to do. Nothing left I want to say. All my love has been taken away, replaced with a bitter and vile substance called life. When my world burns, I will feel a final warmth. When ...