R.I.P

I should not have to watch my step
in these deep, churning memories,

yet I carry myself light as I possibly can.

I made a threat to end them all, with a
burning pen; the flames curl around my
wrist and make me feel at home.

With the pages I crumble- I am but
rust in the crevice of your eyelid,
no longer worthy of sorrow, and just

a pain to look at now.

Suddenly,
I am gone, gone, gone.
But I finally feel at peace.