i mistook the call for self motivation for one of self immolation

as i stood in a pyre of my own devising the subtle differences between the two modes of living became less than obvious

i watched motivation dance like fireflies around my smoldering form

six of one, half dozen of another i suppose

the words sang as the skin bubbled across my torso yet i found my tongue melted and unable to speak my finger shriveled and unable to write my soul unfettered yet free to fly