5 a.m.

She sits in her skin,
doused in gasoline,
a lit cigarette hangs
from her loveless lips;
naked
with no desire
to scream.

The flames will spread
like her smooth white
legs,
only there will be
no pleasure to seek.

She's fought
for too many,
long,
ferocious nights
spent fighting
the tweak.

A woman damned
to endure the fire
without a kiss farewell.

Flesh and bone turned
to ash;
a 5 a.m. burial.