In the room with the blue light bulb
I held a match to my cold lips
And as I whispered them -
I imagined their names igniting

Starlight striking across the blue floor
Between the blinds, in perfectly aligned bars
I cut my cold flesh over and over
Leaving only stripes ignited by light

I lit a match and let it burn
Still it could not set fire -
A single name.
Not even a single bloody bone.

I am not here.
I am in the blue of the light bulb.
In stripes.
In the space between bones.

I have nothing here to burn.
Only names that will not ignite
Written on cold bones -
That are not wholly mine.

Don't blame me
My cold lips cut their names -
I am not here and have nothing to burn
But it's important that I tried.