Phoenix

What a stupid
fucking metaphor

It indicates you end;
burn alive,
and then rise
as a new creature.

So tidy.

But it indicates
you end.

Fuck that.

I’m crawling away
from the blast zone,
face covered in
tears and snot,
gasping through
the impermeable
thick, black
smoke.

My hands and
knees are shredded
from the forward
motion,
one hand,
one knee,
one hand
one knee;
not stopping for
broken glass,
twisted metal,
rotting corpses.

I’m not going
to rise from this
as some beautiful
new creature.

I’m going to get to
a safe place,
and stand,
screaming against
the blood and shit
outlining the
shirt melted
to my back,
and the jagged
gashes that
won’t
scar
pretty.

Rising isn’t
romantic.

It’s bitter work.

I won’t end.
I won’t rise anew.

I’ll just swallow hard
and take a first step,
hobbling away
a little less
than I had been
before.