"Burn"

I'd just as soon burn it
If it's all the same to you
It's grown cold
A fire would do us some good
I don't think it's of much use
For anything else
You got a lighter?

Burn it

I don't want to be Plath's latest disciple
I don't really want to sing Ian's song
But I reach into the cauldron
And all I pull out
Mud covered sentiment
Blood bourne transcendence
Conscience overlaid with fat
Disgusted with what it's come to
Wanting nothing more
Than to offer up something clean
Something beautiful
That would make you smile
That would make me happy
Oh yes, it would
I hate to accept the truth
Though it was none of my doing
Still I must confess it as my own
I would keep it to stagnate
If it didn't burn
If it didn't burn a hole in me
So I hunt for leeches
In the murky bog, the scum-topped swamp
From which I pull out all of these thoughts
To suck words like blood
In hopes that a few of them
Might make someone consider
.....