Old poems tend to have a way to make their way back to my conscience. This is another I have written in the past which, sadly, still holds relevance today.

Like a twirling flame, 
skimming across the wood; 
Burning away the memories, 
I wouldn't stop it if I could. 

Feeling numb from limb to limb, 
too down to breathe the air; 
Thickening with smoke, 
I cling to what seems fair. 

The flames now dance upon my skin, 
eating flesh away from me; 
My time has come now, 
I must cease to be.

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