Drawn into the flames of our hell-
The dirty moths just stare;
Disgust oozes, from gaping wounds
Where prying eyes once settled.
I'm burnt out on this whole mess-
Oxygen free lungs, pumped full of ash;
You were happy to keep fanning the flames,
Even the smoke alarms were mute with fright.
Here I stand smoke choked and home free,
Bathed in ash, like a half dead phoenix;
Never to rise from these ashes, somehow-
You still manage to fire off choice words at me.
Show is over, go back to your houses of straw-
Don't you all have coupons you need to clip?
Consider the local witch, now burned at the stake,
Salem town now ablaze with gossip and ash.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem