on the rare occasion
when a volcano erupts,
the ashes settle,
and harden to stone,
fluttering down from thick, heavy clouds,
resting on the destruction
the glowing, rolling magma left in its wake.
In Pompeii,
they settled on the corpses
of a thousand Grecians
and wrapped them in a mortician’s cocoon.
Instead of formaldehyde,
they were filled
with sulfur.
the ashes I created
have landed on you.
The thunder you heard
was my mind collapsing in on itself
and then exploding
in a rush of heat
and hatred.
I lay dormant for a century,
until the crust
encasing my violent heart
like a cheap paint job
on a beat-up old Chevy.
I destroyed everything in my path.
My fire incinerated your body,
my reckless inferno marred you.
Every inch I crawled,
I was fueled
by the combustibles
that caved under my weight
and self-loathing
until all that was left
was the pile of ash
that buried
and smothered you.