cold embers

anxiety didn't burn like i thought it would
the flames didn't roll up from the page to meet my lighter,
but were drawn deep into the rolled up sheets.
they smoked and it took a while to realize
i no longer needed to shield my words from the wind;
a hidden burning had now taken life inside the text
and only by holding it still and waiting
could i see the jagged black line inch forward, dividing my anxiety
into the yet undigested and the frayed gray that
flayed off with the biting breeze. it no longer needed my efforts to stay lit.
i leaned out of the hallway and kept maneuvering my anxiety
so it didn't roll smoke into my face, and i could see how it breathed
its death at both ends now, the thousand tiny grey corpses of my unrest
flickering around me in the cold, and the vestiges of unease
searing closer and closer to my gloved hand. i could feel
nothing but ever present cold, so
thought alone said now was the time to drop that hidden fire.
"get help" was still legible, then just "help", as the
therapist prescribed foothold of burnable journal entries
ate its way closer to the end. i walked to the concrete backyard
and set today's fragments on the ground. only then did the faint embers
reveal themselves, as the wind kicked dismay into the air. the glimmer
of flame hid itself and then was cast open one last time to the january morning.
only when it was so small that not even a word could be read, did i turn away
and let it burn itself out.