The fire that won't burn

Burnt the last piece of paper-memory up in smoke
but even the ashes smelt like her ..

crushed up all those pieces in my hand
letting the ink drip down the drain
but even the fire wouldn't help me burn ..

tore up the pieces in my hand
made sure they caught fire
killed every last letter with flames
with the coldest fire ever ..

but why won't the memories burn,
why won't the ink, now darker than ever, remove themselves from my hand,
why won't the words, engraved in the back of my head, disappear with the smoke?

Yet another point in life, where I ask myself why
but the fault must be my own,
all of my own ...