documented issues with temperature regulation
On the day I burst, they’ll find my leftover limbs
against a chair: my singed hair spread on the headrest,
my femur giving off smoke like a stick of incense,
my empty shoes kept for evidence. The scorch marks
on my wallpaper will be studied by experts,
but you’ll already know how the sparks began,
per always, in the soles of my feet, how my vital humors
were perfect kindling, my melted fats the ideal wick effect
with all my oils in motion when, for once,
in the torturous heat that builds for no reason,
there was the right snap, and I finally caught ablaze,
turned dark and burst into shockwaves, my vapor
catching the light before I collapsed into ashes.
Be glad on that day. I’ve already simmered
so many times before, at the sizzling brink of a body’s limits,
left too many steam handprints on the window,
lamented, oh lord, if I could self-immolate
instead of smoldering and writhing
for just one night.
Just one.