On Immolation

just a poem

Nothing to give
only take and lose.
Food. Money. Shoes.
Scarcity isn’t a rarity
living in life’s parody
trapped like a rat
on the end of a string.
So light a match.
Burn yourself to escape
from the hard prison shell
and land in the soft bosom
of the heavenly host
and all the choirs of angels.
Or just continue toiling.
Accomplishing never.
Doing nothing.
Barely living.
Slowly dying.
But remember
the fire of the Phoenix
resides in you
so light a match
to burn a candle.
or the midnight oil.
or yourself, in metaphor.    
like a simple similie.