Grief is a gateway to your own hell.
A street leading you to it,
Just for it end suddenly,
With no warning to stop.
Hearing the screams and profanity,
Watching them fall into the flames,
The smell of burning flesh,
Tasting the endless ashes floating in the air.
Then, it was my turn at the end of the street.
Hot flames overwhelmed me.
I pictured my grandfather sitting in his small lawn chair.
Somehow my own hell turned into heaven,
A flower’s scent in the air,
Bird’s chirping,
Children playing.
Then reality hit,
He was gone.
Buzzed off my dream,
My burns turned bloody and swollen,
Almost making me feel beautiful once more.
Then the dark walls of my world quickly rose,
Hell’s scorching fire pits consumed me,
And I grew dead inside once again.