She died in that hospital bed

after I was born.

But I still find her body

in different places.

Sometimes in the bathroom.

Sometimes in the kitchen.

Once, in my room,

lying in my bed.

I lay next to her

and held my breath.

Tried to hear her heart,

but I only heard hell.

Voices, like the devil,

speaking in tongues.

I could only make out

the words evil and run.

My hands feel heavier

with every word I type.

I look in the mirror sometimes

and have to stop myself

from breaking the glass.

Some days at school

my teacher waits until after class

and asks if I’m doing okay.

I tell her to mind her business.

I don’t talk to people

unless I’m yelling

or crying.

And I only cry when I’m angry.

There are things

moving inside my body

that should stay still.

I don’t know how to stop

this burning feeling,

so I learn to make

other things burn.

I leave piles of ash

everywhere I go.