This living room is lava

Explosive

It's everywhere

I don't know where to go

There is nowhere safe

No place where the fire doesn't flow

It's heating up

Burning

But I have to be here

When your home is on fire

Where do you go

Especially when no one knows

Ash fills this house

No trust

Nowhere to step

I don't know what to do

Danger lingers everywhere

No place to go

The eruption never stops

I guess I am used to it

Wishing forever I wasn't here

What do you do

When where your suppose to be safe

Is what is killing you

The floor is lava.
The walls are smoke.
Everything hurts.

Family is vapor;
Friends are ghosts;
Flames crawl up the old paneling.

I don't burn,
but I'm always on fire.
Thinking, thinking, thinking.

It's not the thinking.
It's the remembering.
Molten metal in a mold.

The cushion is like an island
in the middle of the floor.
One step in any direction....

So if it's too hot to abide

If it's too bright to hold

If the glare burns your eyes

If the years hurt your hands

Then walk it down to the basement.

Hide all the old manuscripts and the

Diaries you lied in

The torn up tape deck

And the years you spent trying

Have a backyard fire

In the basement of this home

The walls feel the damage

But the neighbors see nothing