Ok, so I did say you’d never see a poem on here, but it’s Day 21 and I’m deprived of all creativity right now… So you’re getting a weird kind of sort of poem that’s not a poem because it’s a story but it rhymes… Just deal with it.
I wrote this in a poetry class I was forced to take at uni – I’ve given it a quick edit and that’ll have to do for Day 21. I’ll try harder tomorrow, I promise.
Here’s Burn, Burn, Burn. (I’m sorry.)
She lit the photo and watched it flame, silently thinking “Burn, burn, burn,” while she sat stationary in the ruins of their life, knowing she was nothing if she wasn’t his wife. She knew he was the one to blame, and so she whispered, “Burn, burn, burn,” whilst he lay upstairs drenched in his adulterous ways, she let the flames turn into a blaze. As the heat ripped through all she had to her name, desperately she cried out “Burn, burn, burn!” while the scarlet storm scorched her fingertips, and the smoke began to stain her lips. She didn’t feel an inch of shame, and all she screamed was “Burn, burn, burn!” His betrayal raged through her heart more than the heat, lost in obsession, she shrieked, “You evil fucking cheat!” The life they had she could never reclaim, and so she wished him to burn, burn, burn. Engulfed in anger, she ignored his smoke-filled cries, only recalling his million lies. She was done playing his awful game and so she let herself burn, burn, burn. Then he staggered down, woozy from the fume, while she sat, still, imprisoned in her own tomb. He dragged her outside like she was his to claim, and she still was cursing him; “Burn, burn, burn!”
They watched the house glow with fire, how the hell did things get this dire? And when he turned to her, and roared, “You stupid bitch, you could have killed us! When will you learn?” She looked at him, knowing that only in hell would he burn, burn, burn.