“You cannot fight fire with fire,” you say,
but what do you know
of burning?

What do you know
of watching your future
go up in flames before your eyes?
Of choking back tears
and bowing your head
to the hands holding the still smoking match?

What do you know
of the ashes that coat your skin,
leaving marks that never fade,
visible only to you?
Of smoke filling your lungs
and leaving you voiceless?

What do you know
of searching for sparks
behind the eyes of everyone
you love?
Of waiting in fear
for the inevitable?

“You cannot fight fire with fire,” you say,
but your words
will not stop me
from burning.