Smoke. Haze. Fog.

My mind spins as I fall to the ground
In a whole forest but the only felled log
Crashing down, yet no sound

Yell. Scream. Shout.

I forgot that I was supposed to play dumb
I forgot that I wasn’t to stand out
I forgot that I was a fir in a field of tombs

Crackle. Sizzle. Pop.

My actions that led me here all blur together
I remember, my life is considered slop
In the way of land that’s considered better

Warmth. Heat. Burnt. 

The dust settles but you are blind
Clouded by the cataracts you have learned
To refuse to acknowledge the signs

Fire. Fire. Fire.