I have a problem with giving.
Why, that is not a problem. It’s a great thing!
The whole world should be more giving,
Is what they tell me.
But I give until it hurts.
I carry the flame of others
So that they will not burn.
Yet each flame scorches my skin
Because I will hold on to it,
Even when the candle has already burnt out,
Even when my skin goes up in flames
And reveals my bare bones.
I keep giving to become the source of the fire.
Full aware that I will eventually become ashes
Just to know that I am the one that made that light glow.
I try to warn myself:
You are playing with fire
And it always ends up playing you
The sound of your own flesh crackling all while you
Continue to play with a fire that should not be played with.
It should be contained by the one who originally lit the match,
And I have never been the match for it.
But I continue to take it upon myself to
Nourish the flame all while ignoring that
The more that the fire glows,
The less of me there will be.
Because fire incinerates everything in its path to become brighter
And once it reaches its peak, it turns into smoke,
Transcending into the air,
Forgetting that I was once ever there.