The Burning House

The house is on fire,

The bed I once relaxed on,

Is now burning to nothing;

"The walls resist wind and flames"

Oh, how the architect was a liar

From my power pen on the desk, 

To the lively, beautiful lawn,

I could see my home crumbling down...

I sit there,

On the couch watching,

Thinking of numerous people to blame

I waited for the fusillade of heat to burn me,

Skin rotting from ember,

To bear the smoke, 

My eyes no longer gutsy

Suffocating more with anger,

And as I sucked in my last two breaths,

I realised I was the architect,

I set the fire ...