Life of an Incense Stick

There’s a family, but they’re not there.

In fact, there are two of them.

One chose me

One left me behind

Neither prepared for my care.

Swirling around

Like fog in the air

Adoption brings a

Specific kind of flare.

Then blood met blood

And combined like a story

But dispersed in the mist

Like invisible fists

And tales of

Destruction and glory.

While the base still held strong

It did not belong

Waiting

As the burning grew nearer

While it would not burn

The incense would yearn

For an end

To the constant melodrama.