burning

smiling is pretending
when burns line aching hands,
a fiery, hot sear smelling of regret
and wishful hope for
tomorrow's solitude.
but stings never die, as sharpening
they pierce the thoughts of
remembrance's rebirth.
grasping the terrible coals,
I long for a cleansing
from the pain already seared
within the torn walls
of memories never forgot.
clinging to the burn,
tying myself to the pain
in consuming, powerless escape,
I cannot help but remember,
and sear the scar upon my heart
again and again and again.