Your Burning House

 By Jacob Gray

 
Rain is falling on your house as it burns.
In the middle of the smog lays
A roaring tendril of decay.
In your burning house, I find you
Dancing around me like a wick in flame.
Your shadows clasp hands
And swing round in a rosy séance.
Glittering with firelight delight
Your eyes begin crumbling,
Smoke billowing,
Your upside down tears.
Move me to pieces as well:
Bewitch me,
Curse me,
Burn me alive,
Envelop and brand me with your seal.
Everything you touch
Turns to rampant blazes,
And I am just one of them.
I’ll drown before the rain comes,
Standing in your burning house.

 

About the Author
Every night between the hours of 2:00 AM and 6:00 AM I make art. Forty-seven minutes is ascribed to looking at Impressionist era paintings on my iPhone for inspiration. For two hours I scroll social media–it calms me. Afterwards, calmly, I spend fifty-nine minutes listening to “Helter Skelter” on repeat and eventually find a knife ascending towards my forehead, freaked out, I redirect that energy to my left ear, but find the vibes there to be equally as bad. The last fourteen minutes is set aside for writing sentences backward and telling people it’s Latin.