By: Sydney Carcereny

My Burns are my battle scars
Ten years old and scorched
By a fire that wanted to take my life.

I choked on the smoke that invaded and strangled my throat
Fist tighten, weighing any regret till they sizzle out.
Ashes descend into a pile of toxic water
Flames jolt up my stomach
Heat crawls in my veins
My blood turns into the fluid fueling the never ending match

Tears falling.
Hands reaching.
Trying to grasp the hope that was left after being
fixated on the idea of perfection.

Enough was enough

The drips of water pouring on my face
Didn’t descend the fire.
It bursted into something bolder.
I couldn’t dare to let it go
To give it up.

Rising from the degrees of torment
Looking down at the caracoled black beneath my feet
The sud and ash falling to the ground.
As I peel each blistering layer off.
Red-hot sweltering fear drowning itself.

I was no longer a smoldered piece left behind,
I became a radiate spark ready to ignite.

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Sydney Carcereny challenges traditional recipes to add her own flare. She puts makes of different personalities to shine on stage. When she is not burning her tongue she is pricking her hands with rose thorns.