(Am I the cause of all this?)

I found you when it was too late.
There wasn't much left when I arrived.

The door was burning hot,
I withdrew my hands, immediately.

But I'm stubborn
and my past lives forbid me
any future mistakes.

That's why I took a wet cloth,
though my eyes remained dry,
and I broke in;
into your house,
into your consumed life.

I knew I couldn't love you,
I only wanted to save what was left.

A sweet smell, yellow smoke
and now the certainty
that nothing could be done.

But I'm unstoppable
and between greasy grey walls,
stepping on ashes,
I came to look for you.

Not much was left,
the only thing still alive
was the lonely flame
singing its heathen prayer,
surrounded by dancing shadows
on the dirty wallpaper.

Who knows what really happened,
you were charred beyond recognition.
Were you sitting alone in your couch,
crying, craving, dying
for me to come back home?

How many hours did you spend
until despair suddenly turned into flames
that burst your heart
and consumed you entirely?

I found your wrist watch
still intact at your feet,
it reminded me I was late, once again.

Then, I overheard expert voices
that said
"spontaneous human combustion".

They knew nothing.
You were always so calculating,
seldom human,
but they were right about combustion.

You caught fire, and I left you there,
to burn.