The Fuck Am I Trying To Say

I stare at the smoky horizon
there’s charred beauty in the dawn ablaze
beams of light redolent with charcoal
because I have synthesesia  
 
I tried to message you and it whisked
away like this poem
written 20 times and  
deleted  
twice as many  
because I couldn’t make it work
 
it’s as if there was no tomorrow or past
just a here and now frozen in a bleak tundra
of empty space
trying to figure  
out how many ways to apologise  
for something I didn’t do
 
the whiplash is maddening
reminds me of when I started boxing
the concussive blows that make you see sky
when you think you’re good.
 
and I guess it’s all a matter of irony  
that I sit in the sun and wonder
where winter went
or if it’s even going to arrive  
 
praying for rain to put out a blaze
that has the stench of gasoline
and an arsonist heart  
as if your tears became the accelerant
and the fact that I’m here is enough
to want to blow everything up
 
I wonder if the pain of it all is
worth it