More Cinders

i bloomed when i met you
grew from and empty husk
into something more, something
that wanted to be more.
now i've wilted; dried; died; been lied to
pressed between the closed pages
of a story i once believed
could shake the earth
and bring light into the world.
Alas the story is much better when both people
believe in it, not just one. When vows mean
something to both, not just one. When both hold value,
or worth, not just one.

so consume me
entomb me
exhume me
use me up again
until i'm spent
then turn me to ash

it wouldn't be
the first time
and doubtless; the last.