The world ends in fire,

a thousand sunsets bleeding at once,

the horizon ruptured,

spilling colors that have no name.

Orange eats the sky,

red devours the ground,

and yellow hums,

soft as the whisper of a match striking.

I should be afraid,

but fear is a stranger here.

The flames mesmerize me—

tall and elegant,

they waltz across the earth,

gilding the ruins in fleeting beauty.

They are artists with a one woman audience,

sculpting ash from stone,

crafting beauty in obliteration.

Smoke curls upward,

a serpent coiling toward heaven,

its body thick with memories.

The air tastes of charred endings,

and yet I breathe deeply,

letting it coat my lungs like armor.

The fire comes closer now,

its colors no longer distant poetry,

but a searing hymn in my blood.

It reaches for me,

and I step forward, unblinking.

Here, in this final crescendo,

I feel the weight of life fall away.

Pain, that relentless beast,

will find no home in me again.

The flames will cleanse it all—

the scars, the ache, the endless fight

to survive.

When the fire touches me,

it is not an ending,

but a release.

God, it is beautiful…

And isn’t it ironic

That Here, in this moment, just before death,

I have never felt more alive.