Notre Dame is on fire, and so is my heart.

Fire burns flesh. Burns a memoire of existence; burns everything. Everything turns to nothing; nothing burns flesh. Burns holes in the heart; burns a whole existence

Notre Dame is on fire, and so is my heart

To the figment of my thoughts rose many questions. What do you exactly do on days where the loneliness shatters you to fragments? What do you exactly do when the failure echoes its unholy chants in your brain? When monologues with isolation sound like conversations? When the fire eats the heart like a delicacy? 

You see, I have this flame in my chest and this bullet in my throat. I hold the shotgun to my pulse while my hands shake to the broken melody of this life. I think the verses on my skin are no longer holy, no longer pure. I think my veins are nothing but flowing rivers of lapses. Now, my eyes reflect so much of what the tongue cannot spell. The tongue spits so much of what the heart cannot speak. Sometimes, the eyes cry in their sleep because the body does not want to die yet. It wants to live so bad life pushes it away. It burns itself to unconsciousness, slips between the arms of solitude. The fire devours its bones and everything cracks. Everything crumbles. There is too much weight on my spine I cannot stand up. And as the fire pokes holes in my stomach, I fall deep into a consuming emptiness and I might never wake up again. You see, my heart is suffocated with its feelings. My brain wants to shut down. I remember…I remember; for the past 5 nights, I shrunk to the sight of my own refection. I consumed the last particle of my sanity. You see, I wonder how a heart that bursts so much life can be so deadly. How human beings can be so rough. We wear the mask of carelessness until it becomes the face. We push daggers in each other’s lungs until we cannot breathe. 

There is so much delusion when magic is nothing but a trick. When the flames dine on the flesh and it all seems like fireworks. You see, we built asylums of errors and slip tongues inside of each other’s brains. We say too many things that just destroy. You see fire burns flesh. Burns a memoire of existence; burns everything. Everything turns to nothing; nothing burns flesh. Burns holes in the heart; burns a whole existence. As the flames feast on whatever is left, the heart eats its decays. You see, going down on my knees is my first act of self-destruction. Trusting eyes that do not flinch is the second. I wrapped my heart in the inferno of my own imagination, until it metamorphosed to embers. 

See, I call myself a coward; always running in the wrong direction. Call myself stupid; always adorn myself with the smiles of suicide bombers. Reckless; always throw myself in the fire when I know I am gasoline. You see, Notre Dame de Paris is on fire, and so is my heart. Today, the world mourns the death of a beautiful cathedral. Years of historical heritage that turned to ashes. There is nothing left but cinders that carry a decade of memories. You see, monuments are not the only thing with history; so are our bodies, so are our hearts. 

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I am what I call a human chaos. Torn between the sharp edges of reality and the sweet embrace of my imagination. I display a beautiful, yet, brutal contrast. I write when my mind is too loud, and I also write when my mind is too quiet, as if I, both, free and fill myself.


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