An End Poem by India Mysticali

Burning paper
rains down
upon all the dead flowers

The fire catches
and soon,
everything I know
is doused with flames.

The villagers scream my name
burn, witch, burn
their biased acts swarm around me
the wood catches

My feet begin to die
the skin begun to fry
already I am burning.

I am frightened
and in pain
my feet are ashes
above my body
I fly

I fly, and
they no longer
have mortal control of me.
I am free.