The Silence of Eternal Flame

you were stealing me from myself my mitochondria, a little under the name, while I was unmoored, talking to a mirror who did not recognize me, caked in heat and dust touching my tissues and blood under the ignited roof of the tower, walking with crutches to wipe the tears, religion, open pyres, I am still stained near a lantana thicket, amorous, talking to death, pirates grabbing the winds, migration of a whole waxed population in black air stalkers have a corrugated mind and serial killers a mournful voice SATISH VERMA