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Description
Haikus are made to
have five syllables, seven
next, then five again.

Well, do you like this?
This is order, is it not?
This isn't what you meant.

I know. The only
order you like is the one
you created. You

could never birth it
in me. So that explains us.
That explains failure,

this failure between us,
how holding hands and watching
the moonbeams sliding

through the blinds at two
in the morning to trail down
your hand on my hip

like a secret, like
I was precious enough for
a coat of silver,

became more like me.
A mess. Did I scare you off?
Was it the taste of

cigarettes at dawn,
the reek of lies at night? Ash,
I know, you told me

I taste of a fire
that burned itself out, no more
hot embers or sparks.

You tasted of grapes,
all things growing on the vine,
and if I am fire

I must have burned you
to the ground. I was not in
your comfort zone, I

am chaos; entropy

my reality, so

forget the rules of haikus,
forget your own brand of rules you sought
to bind me to, I was not put on this Earth
to have you love a me that does not exist.

I am not ashes floating in a sky charred orange,
I am more than just something mindless that devours
houses and people, and you can slither words
and gently place them to nestle

in the crooks of ears, spread your beliefs,
I am more than you believe
and I don't need you.

(And yes, maybe where there's smoke
there's fire, and where's there's the sulfric
stench and bile aftertaste of lies,
there are lies, and maybe
when someone
plays with fire
the fire is the one burned.

I'm still healing.)