You take a light; that blistering flame

to the tip of my head––

the start to my demise.

The countless ashes of my kin succumb

to your prayers; sacrificed for the absence of holy statues––

mythology turned into worship.

As I’m propped in rice grains, burning,

in my soon-to-be coffin; I permeate into the air––

transpiring your wishes to made-up entities.

As if the windpipes in your esophagus

were created by gods

& not from the action of human fucking.