the bed is on fire
the flames lick the ceiling
all i can do
is try and find
a position to lie in
that keeps the heat even
careful to roll over
every hour or so
to ensure
even grill marks
from the white hot coils
a blanket of ash
a pillow of charred memories
another bedroom
burnt to a crisp
as dreams boil
wishing
they would come true
as my necklace
glows a fierce red
branding my throat
with each individual link of loss
carefully woven by spiders
with fat abdomens
filled with poison
that hisses
as it splashes
vaporizing
into the acrid scent
of caramelized fears