I've been burning paper.
I lit a pink peony candle and held pages to the flame.
Sometimes the burning paper took on a greenish tinge.
The flame reached my fingers once.
The middle finger and the thumb of my left hand.
I saved one page.
I got nauseous and dizzy.
I cut up and crumpled the rest of the pages.
I gloried in destroying wholeness.
I was a voyeur today and I relished destroying intimacy.
I did it for attention.
I'm writing it here for attention.
For drama.
I got torn between hysterics and histrionics.
There's a skeleton inside me.
It's not my own.