Kerosene

I’m throwing kerosene

on everything I love

because it hurts less to watch it burn

than to wait for it to leave.

I don’t destroy things out of anger—

I do it because I already know the ending,

and I’d rather be the one holding the match

than the one left in the smoke.

There’s a sick kind of peace

in turning love into ash.

No more hoping,

no more reaching,

no more waiting for the floor to fall out.

I don’t trust softness.

I don’t trust survival.

I only trust the fire—

it never pretends to stay.

It just devours everything.

So I burn it all down

before it can ruin me,

and the worst part is:

the only thing that ever really turns to ash

is me. The fire wins.