Backspace

I am not that easy a human.

I am real.

I burn within.

No denial on the agony bursting from eyes.

No denial on the crude words I blurt.

No denial on the colorless couture I wear.

No denial on the bruises I trend.

No denial on the glanced changes.

No denial on the tossed weird dances.

Denial is there where I have no space of my own,

Where I can't burn,

Where I can't be weird,

Where I can't be detached,

Where every thing is so lucid that smoke disturbs.

Smoke is my world then I should have a room of smoke.

It hardly matters who the peer is or there is none.

I want my space.

.

.

And now I will press a backspace.