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.