About Setting Me On Fire

after the first time you set me on fire i said, "not me... I will not be one of those men, that accepts such tongue lashings, such public humiliations, such a slap to the face, " the gasoline burned all around me and the air smelt like you perfume, blue and betrayal. "fuck you bitch" I screamed at you impotently, but honestly you could not give a fuck. I was mad, for a month or two and then realized that I still loved you, came crawling back. The second time as the flames incinerated my skin, devoured my body, I thought, "this is what I have always wanted" to be engulfed and subsumed by another, to be a part of her inky dark fire. I entertained these thoughts as the flame removed the hair from my head, the smile from my face. " What is life, but to be purged by the bloody searing heat? to feel the tendrils of the holocaust lick at your skin and arrive, still alive, but maybe broken charred and grilled, on the other side and think, "Now I am stronger than before, I do not feel anger, because I am better than before, more full, complete." The third time you set me on fire I do not even whimper or complain, I have grown used to it by now and as my body molders in the fire, turning at last into a series of coals and smoke and nothing I think, "truly this must be love, to singe and crisp, to burn and to not care, to be removed to be destroyed and to want that, to be convinced that you could not live with out it. my face is smiling and my eyes are satisfied as I melt into the cinders and heat.