Annar in the Inbetweens

Halogen

I can feel the movement of the halogen fingers of every letter

        that composes every word
                 piecing, prying, and
        pushing its own way
        from in between the bones of my ribcage—
                 where I keep my most unbearable truths
                 suppressed and locked away—
        to the surface of my chest.

        From there, these fingers stuck to hands,
                                           stuck to ideas
                                            based on life
                                           and fluid philosophies
                                                             of love,

burst into flames, and burn into reality.