Acrid tang in the back of the throat,
Stinging, shallow breaths as I gasp.
There’s no air. I feel the heat suffocate
and begin to bite as I fall, stumble,
and it begins to roar a floor below.
Sacred things, family relics, going up,
burning away to nothing, and the bitterness
in my chest isn’t the smoke, but the years
lost, and the fire isn’t warm, a gentle pet
but a hungry, possessive thing that rips,
tears, and swallows your life whole.
Before you can breathe, before you can blink.